Turellian Fever
by Jensen Jones
Summary: What will Chakotay do when he learns that Tom Paris has been struggling with an incurable illness? Set two and a half years since Voyager's return.
1. I fulfil my promise to Janeway

I caught up with Admiral Janeway and we went for a drink. "Congratulations, by the way, _Captain_ Chakotay," she raised her glass. She was referring to my Captaincy. It had been almost a year, but I had been so busy on long missions, we had not seen each other in that time. It had been six months since I had caught up with any of our former crew, the Voyager crew, and I was relying on Kathryn to fill me in on the latest news – and gossip.

I wasn't disappointed. She told me Tuvok (who had quickly regained his composure after going through a premature Pon-Farr upon being reunited with his wife, on our return) had also been promoted to Captain. Harry Kim had joined the Enterprise crew. The Doctor was working at Starfleet Medical Research on Earth, looking for a cure for the debilitating turellian fever.

"Speaking of which," Janeway said suddenly, her hand on my shoulder. "I want you to do something for me, Chakotay. You're heading to Earth now, right? To Starfleet Headquarters?"

"I am." I had no idea what this was about.

"I want you to visit Tom Paris. Will you do that?"

I was surprised. "At Jupiter Station? I can stop off there, on my way."

Kathryn shook her head. "He's on Earth," she corrected me.

"I thought…" I had talked to B'Elanna about six months ago, just before my latest mission. "I thought B'Elanna was working as an engineer at Jupiter Station…" When we'd spoken she had also just enrolled Miral in preschool at Jupiter Station and Paris had recently ended his piloting commission with the Turellian Rescue Squad, to join them. B'Elanna had sounded happy with the way things were going.

"Not anymore. She accepted another position four months ago."

"Really? Seems I have some catching up to do," I admitted.

"So you promise? You'll visit Tom? I'll give you the address."

"Certainly," I said. At the time I didn't realise how much she wasn't telling me, or I would have questioned her further. Maybe it was best that I didn't realise. If I'd known the full story I may never have said I would visit Tom Paris. Tom and I had never been close friends. I was hoping to catch up with Torres more than anything.

The conversation changed topic after that, but Janeway remembered to give me the address, and that's how I ended up, three days later, on the steps of an expensive apartment right outside Starfleet Headquarters, waiting for Tom Paris to appear at the door. I began to wonder if I had the correct address. It didn't strike me as the kind of place that Tom and B'Elanna would chose to raise Miral. At last I saw a tall figure appear through the rippled glass and the door slid open.

"Admiral Paris!" I was surprised.

"What can I do for you… Captain Chakotay?" he asked in his customary gruff manner.

"I hope I'm not interrupting. Admiral Janeway gave me this address. I'm here to see… your son. I'm here to see Tom Paris. Is he…"

"He's upstairs, Captain. Please come in."

Tom Paris was lounging on the couch. He turned his head as I entered and waved me over. He was wearing casual clothing – jeans and a loose shirt shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up. He smiled but didn't get up. I thought he was just being casual – a little too casual. "It's been a while," he drawled, looking up at me. I felt his gaze take in my Starfleet uniform and catch on the pips on my collar.

"I'm here for a few days," I told him awkwardly. "I thought I'd drop by. I'm sure I have some catching up to do."

"Maybe," he replied warily. "How'd you find me?"

"What, are you in hiding?" I joked.

"No! No, of course not." He didn't see the humour. "Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. It's… good to see you Chakotay." he smiled hesitantly. "Tell me all about your latest exploits as a Starfleet Captain."

I took a seat opposite Paris. After detailing my missions in deep space, I felt I had done my fair share of talking. "How was your work with the Turellian Rescue Squad?" I tried to make conversation. "I'm guessing as well as piloting, you got to make good use of your medical skills during all those evacuations." The third planet had been undergoing one natural disaster after another as in underwent rapid climate change.

"Yeah, unfortunately," Tom said wryly.

I frowned. I knew he had never particularly enjoyed working in sickbay on Voyager, but when people's lives were at stake he never shirked his duties. "I'd say they were lucky to have you, Tom. Not many top pilots with medical training."

"Lucky me. I guess that's why my contract was extended… twice," Tom sounded bitter. "I stayed a lot longer than I should have. They doubled my pay."

"You stayed for the money?" I frowned. There was a time this would not have surprised me.

"No!" Paris objected. "This was during the Turellian fever epidemic. I stayed because they needed me." He paused, "…and also for the money. We were saving up to buy a place… but that didn't exactly work out…" he trailed off, eyeing me warily.

"You know, I read about the Turellian fever," I kept the conversation going. "You're lucky humans are so rarely infected," I appointed out. "There have only been a handful of cases. I've heard its hell."

Tom froze. His parents were silent, but glanced uneasily at their son. Tom chuckled softly. "Hell. Would you agree with that Mom? Dad?"

I must have looked confused.

"You don't know, do you?" Tom's direct gaze unnerved me. His eyes looked bluer than I remembered.

"Know what?"

"Chakotay, the theory is that humans need long term exposure to be infected. That's why the cases are so rare. Mostly people stay for less than a year. I stayed for two and a half."

I still didn't get it.

Tom broke it to me. He rested his arms on his knees and leaned toward me. "Chakotay, I've been really sick."

And suddenly it clicked. Tom's casual manner had masked his lethargy. His clothes seemed loose because he had lost a significant amount of weight. His complexion was paler than I remembered, which was why his eyes looked so blue. And there was that familiar tone of false confidence in his voice that reminded me of his first months on Voyager. I tried to recall the report I had read on human Turellian fever survivors. Even on recovery they had suffered chronic symptoms: muscle weakness, pain and fatigue, for which there was no cure. Why had Janeway not told me?

"Let's have dinner," Tom's mother tried to cover the awkwardness. "Everything's ready in the dining room."

"Mom, can't we just eat in here?" Tom bickered.

"I… I thought with Captain Chakotay here," she stammered, "I've already set the table…"

"Fine!" Tom was annoyed.

"This way," Mrs Paris gestured me to the doorway. As I got up to follow I glanced back and saw Tom lifting himself from the couch using his arms. The Admiral rushed to help him. "It's fine," I heard Tom insist. "I've got it." Tom lowered himself into the wheelchair I had failed to notice next to the couch where he had been sitting.


	2. I stay for dinner

I sat down at the dining table as Tom's mother started dishing out risotto, baked fish and salad onto our plates, all home cooked. I almost forgot to thank her. I was still in shock after discovering that, some time between now and six months ago, Paris had come down with the dreaded Turellian fever. I tried to act calm but inside I felt like yelling. Why had no one told me? I was not particularly close to the pilot, but still, anyone from our Voyager crew felt like family, even now. Why had Janeway not told me? Why had B'Elanna not told me? What about Paris himself, couldn't he have contacted me? Then again, I had been in deep space the whole time. What would I have done? What could I have done? And to be honest I hadn't made much effort to keep in contact with Paris myself. Still, it was hard finding out this way, coming to visit unaware, speaking to Tom Paris for a good ten minutes about my latest exploits as a StarFleet Captain, before realising that he could no longer even walk to the dining table. To say I was in shock was putting it mildly.

"How is it?" Mrs Paris questioned.

"How is what?"

"The food."

I realised I had been frowning at my plate. "Excellent," I smiled, trying to make up for my reverie. "I hope you didn't go to too much trouble."

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom assured me between mouthfuls. "Mom loves to cook. Trust me, you're doing her a favour by staying for dinner. I'm afraid I'm not always as appreciative as she deserves." As Tom spoke his mother was loading his plate with more fish and risotto. "Please, Mom," he complained, "That's enough, okay? I'll ask for more if I want it. Stop getting up. Stop fussing. Just sit down. Chakotay can pass me the salt."

I met his irritated glance as I passed the salt across the table. This must be hard for him. I wondered if my coming was such a good idea.

"Sorry Chakotay," he grinned, as if sensing my discomfort. "Look," he put down his knife and fork, "There's actually a few things I've been wanting to talk to you about, and I was wondering if you could help me."

"Really?" My heart leapt. What would he ask of me? Was there anything I could do? "I'll do my best," I promised suddenly, possibly more out of guilt than anything else.

"I really appreciate that," Tom nodded then seemed to hesitate. "The thing is, I've been offered a position."

"What kind of position?" I was confused.

"A piloting position. Chief pilot."

"Really?" I regretted the surprise apparent in my voice.

"That's right. Aboard the USS Ultimatum. I was wondering if you've met the Captain? Jared Balthazar?"

"We've met," I admitted. I wasn't sure if I was following. "Tom, When did this happen? You haven't accepted, surely. The Ultimatum is in deep space. Do they know about your… condition…I mean, can you even… " I faltered, embarrassed.

"I have a week to consider the offer. The contract doesn't start until next year." Tom replied calmly, as if he expected my dubious response. "And yes, they know all about my medical history. They're fine with it," he assured me. I noticed the Admiral and his wife share a worried glance. "Hey," Tom insisted defiantly, "just because I can't _walk_, doesn't mean I can't still _fly_ better than any…"

"Thomas," the Admiral's authoritative voice interrupted. "We are not discussing this again!"

"That's right Dad!" Tom spoke over him. "_We_ are not discussing this. I'm telling Chakotay. You can just stay out of this and…"

"If you expect me to sit here and…"

"…keep your mouth shut."

The Admiral was silent but livid.

"Have some more salad, Thomas," Tom's mother got up again. "Did you want seconds?"

"Mom, please!" Tom objected, brushing her off. He was about to speak to me, then on second-thought turned to the Admiral. Even silent, Owen Paris was hard to simply ignore. "Come on Dad, what do you expect me to do? I can't just stay here indefinitely!"

"Of course you can," The Admiral countered. "It's what your mother and I want. We want you to take part in the medical trials, so that a cure can be found, and until that happens it's best that you stay here with us."

"And how long is that going to take? It could take years!" Tom argued. "No, I have to move on. I have to do _something_. I have to _live_."

The firm line of the Admiral's mouth parted as he took a steady breath and said resolutely: "Thomas, that's the very thing we want to ensure."

It was only now that I suddenly realised that this was not Tom's apartment. Of course it wasn't. It belonged to Admiral Paris and his wife, since the Admiral spent so much time at Headquarters. It seemed Tom was currently living here with his parents. But if that was the case where was B'Elanna and Miral? The apartment was not big enough for all of them. We ate the rest of the meal with hardly a word. My cutlery chinked loudly as I finished eating. Mrs. Paris rose in silence to clear the plates.

"No, I'm finished Mom. Really, I'm not hungry. Just take it away." I heard Tom say.

"Captain Chakotay," Mrs Paris turned to me "Will you stay for supper? Owen has work to do, but I'm sure Thomas would appreciate the company…"

"Actually," I rose abruptly, "I have some preparation I need to do before my meeting tomorrow." It wasn't exactly a lie, but I felt terrible saying it all the same. I was trying to escape. I needed to get away. I needed to think. "I'm sorry Tom," I told him. And I suddenly felt it too. Although he hid it from his voice, I could see the disappointment in his eyes. It was almost enough to make me change my mind.

"It's fine. I'll show you out," Tom insisted putting down his glass and his napkin and wheeling himself to the door. He ushered me through and I stepped ahead self-consciously. When we got to the lift, Tom swung his chair around to face me.

"So Chakotay, you'll be around tomorrow?" He looked up at me, waiting for a reply.

"I'm at Headquarters, if that's what you mean. I have a de-briefing with several other captains until noon."

"Perfect timing," Paris grinned. "I'll be over there too. We can have lunch."

"You'll be at Headquarters?" I must have sounded surprised.

"Well, next door," Tom corrected, looking down and flexing his hands against the rim of his wheels. "At the Academy. I've ah… been tutoring a few cadets in Advanced Piloting."

I didn't quite know how to respond. It was a bit of a step down after serving as an officer. "Do you enjoy it?" I asked, feeling that was probably the wrong response.

But Paris smiled. "You know what? I do. At least I get to use my piloting skills for something, right? Even if it's only on the holodeck. And the kids are great. They're doing really well."

I managed a strained smile back.

Paris grinned. He had picked up on my unease. "So, maybe when you're done shmoozing with all the Captains and Admirals, you'd care to meet an out-of-work civilian for lunch, what do you say?"

"Civilian?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm no longer under commission, since my leave ran out two months ago."

"I see."

"Currently, the only official position I have with Starfleet is as an experimental subject in these medical trials the Doc is running. In fact, I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon, over at Medical Research. I'm hoping that after lunch, you could accompany me? My Mom offered, but I don't want her to have to cancel her plans again."

I didn't know what to say.

"Come on, Chakotay. All three of us! It'll be like a reunion: You, me, and…"

"B'Elanna?" I blurted.

Tom paled in shock. "The Doc, of course, Chakotay," he corrected coldly. "Fuck you!" He was suddenly malevolent.

"Excuse me?" suddenly I was fuming too.

"You _know_ she's not here!" Tom admonished.

"Then where is she?" I demanded.

"How the hell would I know?" His knuckles were white as he gripped his wheels.

"And Miral?"

Tom looked like he was about to either kill me, or start crying. I didn't care.

"You don't know where your wife or your daughter are?" I raised my voice, incredulous.

"I was hoping _you_ could tell _me_. Oh, come on, Chakotay," Tom spat venomously, "I'm sure she's told you all about it!"

"About what?" I tried unsuccessfully to keep my voice down.

"Our break-up!"

"You broke up with B'Elanna?" This was the second big shock of my day. I was reeling.

"About four months ago. Or she broke up with me. I don't exactly remember." Tom admitted, his voice shaky.

"Tom, I had no idea."

"I thought that's why you came. And why you were acting so guarded."

"I had no idea." I swore. "I simply came because Janeway asked me."

"Janeway?" Tom slumped weakly in his chair. "So you haven't heard from B'Elanna since then either?"

"I'm sorry Tom." I was floored. What a reunion this was turning out to be.


	3. I meet Paris for lunch

I walked into the restaurant and glanced around. I had agreed to meet Paris for lunch and he had suggested this place, situated across the street from Headquarters, quite close to the Academy holodeck. It was a busy place with a large open bar, and dining area. The patrons were a mix of Starfleet personnel, civilians and even a few cadets. As I walked in I felt suddenly nervous at the prospect of seeing Paris again. I wished I knew exactly what had happened between him and Torres. It worried me that he had not even heard from her. And yet if he didn't open up, I wasn't sure I was game to force it out of him. But as soon as I left I going to try to contact Torres, that was for sure. I should have contacted her earlier.

"Can I help you?" a waiter asked.

"I'm meeting a friend, I'm not sure if he has a table booked." I explained.

"What name?"

"Paris."

The waiter smiled. "This way, sir. By the window."

He led me around the corner, where I saw Tom Paris, who must have come in the side door, manoeuvring his wheelchair carefully into the gap at a small empty table for two, by the window overlooking the courtyard. I watched as he leaned over to apologise to the woman behind him and she hurried to move her chair to accommodate. It was going to take some getting used to, seeing Paris like this, wheelchair-bound.

"Tom!" the waiter called. "This gentleman's with you?"

Paris glanced up and grinned. "Chakotay," he waved me over.

Suddenly I was genuinely glad to see him. He was looking much better than he had the day before, and seemed in a brighter mood.

"It's good to see you again Paris," I clasped his hand, clad in a black fingerless leather glove. On impulse I leaned over and grabbed his shoulder in a semi-embrace.

He pulled back a little in surprise before embracing me in return.

"You look well," I commented, taking a seat.

"Thanks. I feel pretty good," he said removing his gloves and placing them by the table, "…today."

"Lunch was a great idea."

"Yeah, I'm starving." Tom rubbed his stomach. He was wearing the blue-grey suit known in Starfleet as the 'civilian uniform', which was a bit of an oxymoron. It was worn by anyone working on campus at the Academy who had no actual StarFleet rank. It saved the constant checking of ID. While it did not command the respect of an officer uniform, the colour actually suited Paris. It matched his eyes. Again he had his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, but unlike the shirt he'd been wearing yesterday, this garment fitted fairly tightly and I noticed that while Paris had obviously lost a significant amount of weight, his arms and shoulders were toned and muscular.

"Thanks Mark," Tom greeted the waiter as he handed us menus.

"Do you come here often?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, fairly often, after I finish up tutoring on the holodecks," he gestured toward the Academy buildings. "I can recommend the steak burger," he offered helpfully.

We ordered, Tom bantering with the waiter. He seemed almost like the old Tom Paris. I waited until the waiter left, and then broached the unfinished conversation from the night before.

"So, have you made a decision about this offer aboard the Ultimatum?"

Tom gave a feeble half smile. "I guess there's not really any decision to be made."

"No?"

"I hate to admit it, but my father's right. Realistically it's not going to happen. I guess I just needed…to hope…maybe…" His voice trailed off.

"What did you want my help with?"

Tom chuckled wryly. "It was stupid, I guess. The whole scheme. Forget about it. It's crazy." He gazed absently as he played with his cutlery.

"All the same, can I hear it?" I suggested.

He sighed and stretched his arms behind his head. "Okay," he decided. "My plan was this: I thought you might know this Captain Balthazar, and I could persuade you to put in a good word for me. The reason I applied for this job is that Ultimatum will be flying through the sector where I _think_ B'Elanna is. I hoped I'd be able to get you to tell me exactly where she was, and I'd be able to find her and maybe… I don't know… we could…" he gestured, frustrated, then sighed with resignation. "There's a good chance she doesn't want to see me… again… ever."

Before I had a chance to formulate a response, our food arrived and our conversation was put on hold. I desperately wanted to understand what had happened between Tom and B'Elanna. They had got off to a rocky start as a couple, but by the end of our stint on Voyager they had seemed so good together, so permanent. What could have changed that? And how could she have left when Tom was sick? I doubted Tom would tell me much. He seemed to assume that I would be on Torres's side. Maybe I would be if I'd heard things from her side, which I guess I always had in the past.

"Hey Tom! Fancy running into you again," A grinning cadet had approached our table.

"What are you doing here, Greg? I though I was rid of you until next week!" Tom greeted him.

"No such luck," the cadet drawled in a distinctly Australian accent. He was tall, tanned, with dark blonde curls and a self-confident grin. "I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I have a question to ask you."

"This is Greg Bartlett, my most talented student," Tom explained. "Greg, this is Captain Chakotay."

The boy's eyebrows rose. "Pleased to meet you, sir." He shook my hand. He had obviously heard of me.

"Okay, fine, what's your question? Keep it short. It is about piloting right?" Tom prompted.

"Yeah, yeah, of _course_," the boy suavely pulled up a chair from the next table as sat down. Before I could object, he turned and assured me "I won't hold you up long Captain, okay?"

"Go ahead," I replied a little bluntly.

The boy leaned toward Tom. "Okay Tom, firstly, I just want to say how great your lessons have been. For example that exercise today? Totally awesome."

"That's not a question Greg. Get to the point." Tom glanced an apology my way.

"I will. Just hear me out." Greg was unfazed. "I've been telling my friends all about you. One friend in particular. I really want you to meet my friend Ali."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Please, Tom, he's thinking of dropping out!"

"This is because mid-year exams are coming up, isn't it? Look, I'm not taking on any more students. If your friend is failing…"

"No, you don't understand. Ali's not _failing_. He's the _best_ pilot in our class."

Tom was frowning. "Then what do you want me to do?"

"Just meet him!" Greg insisted.

"Okay…" Tom paused to collect his thoughts, but before either of us could say a word, the cadet yelled across the room.

"Hey Al!" he called across the bar causing several diners to turn their heads. He gave the thumbs up and gestured toward our table. A black-haired cadet looked up, put down his glass and trotted over.

"This is Ali," Greg introduced. "Tom Paris, who I've been telling you about, and this is Captain Chakotay from Voyager."

"Wow!" the boy was breathless. "Call me Al," he requested shaking my hand, then Tom's.

"Look it's really nice to meet you Al," Tom assured him, "but I'm trying to catch up with my friend here and we don't have all day, so maybe some other time…"

"I understand. We're interrupting. Let's go, Greg."

"I'll meet you outside, Ali." The other cadet refused to budge. "Tom, I haven't asked my question yet!" he explained.

"I thought… oh, for crying out loud!" About to resume eating, Tom dropped his knife and fork again. "Chakotay did I mention that Greg is also my most _annoying_ student?"

I grinned in sympathy.

"There're only two of us Tom. Still, I'm hurt. Seriously, you prefer the Vulcan girl over me?" Greg didn't look hurt. He looked amused and curious.

"I like Vulcans. They stick to the _point_." Tom retorted. "I'm giving you one minute, starting now." He looked at his chronometer.

"Actually, it's not so much a question," Greg admitted, leaning in and stealing a chip from Tom's plate, "as a proposition."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Whatever. Fifty seconds."

The cadet took a deep breath. "I've heard the whole piloting syllabus is being restructured for next year. The whole department is changing. But it's still in preliminary stages. Nothing's been decided…"

"Forty seconds."

"…which got me thinking. The Advanced Piloting unit could be improved a lot. The simulations are boring, and not that advanced. And the lectures are mostly irrelevant."

"Thirty seconds."

"See Ali out there, is bored out of his brains. He's a natural, but he's going to drop out if things don't change…"

"Twenty seconds."

"It would have occurred to me sooner, but I was under the impression that you were taking off next year. Then yesterday I was talking to Sam – your favourite Vulcan – after her shift volunteering at Med Research, and _she _said it sounded like they wouldn't be _letting_ you leave…"

"Ten seconds." Tom was looking annoyed.

"…then just now, hanging out with Ali, it hit me. _You_ should apply for a position. _You_ should rewrite our Advanced Piloting unit. _You_ should teach us next year. It's perfect! What do you say?"

Tom looked a little stunned. He picked at his food, stalling. "These chips are almost cold," he complained "Isn't there any ketchup?"

Greg swiftly leaned over to the next table for the ketchup, then plonked it down in front of Tom.

Tom accepted the bottle wordlessly, drizzling ketchup across his plate. He frowned as he put the bottle down again, and looked up. "Why are you still here?"

"Fine then!" Greg pushed his chair back abruptly and got to his feet. Now he seemed hurt. "You're not even going to give me an answer? Fine!" I thought he was going to walk away, but he remained resolutely by Tom's side. I wondered if I should get his attention, take control of the situation, as the senior officer, but it was really up to Tom. And Greg hadn't taken his eyes off his tutor.

Tom stopped eating and ran a hand through his hair. He avoided our eyes by gazing out the window. I could tell now that it was more than just annoyance he was feeling.

"You know I'm serious right?" Greg lowered his voice.

"Of course you are, Greg," Tom acknowledged dejectedly, but then turned resentful. His voice taking on the same bitter tone I'd heard yesterday. "What, is it Tell-Tom-what-he-should-do-with-his-life day today or something?"

"I'm sorry," Greg apologised hesitantly. "But… well… we're just trying to help you."

"I know," Tom sighed bringing his hands to his face.

"And, well, I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think it'd be great - not just for you, for us all. I wouldn't suggest this if I didn't believe in it."

I sat, forgotten, watching them, curious at the way their roles had swiftly reversed. Tom was suddenly on the receiving end of the advice. I suppose it was disrespectful of his student. The cadet was out of line - or he would have been if Tom had still been an officer. Yet I couldn't help feeling a rush of admiration for Greg. His attitude showed more than just cockiness – a trait that seemed prevalent amongst pilots - he obviously cared about Tom and was not afraid to speak up.

"So maybe you don't want to hear this right now. Just promise you'll think about it, okay?" Greg said quietly.

Tom groaned, without uncovering his face.

Suddenly Greg turned to look me in the eyes with an insistent gaze. "Captain you must know Tom pretty well. Don't _you_ think he'd make a great teacher?"

I was taken aback. It was honestly not something I'd thought about before. Suddenly I remembered aboard Voyager, Tom had given Kes, Neelix and Icheb piloting lessons, not because he had to, but because he'd wanted to. Maybe Greg was right. But I didn't think Tom could deal with me jumping on the bandwagon right now, doling out my opinions. "He'll think about it." I told the cadet. "I promise."

It wasn't until Greg had left than Tom took his hands from his face.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I wasn't expecting that," he admitted gazing after the cadet.

"He meant well. It shows he cares. Maybe he's just a little enthusiastic."

Tom was nodding vaguely. "He's a good kid."

I paused. "And… it's not such a crazy idea."

"Oh…unlike mine?"

Oops. I hadn't meant that at all. "It could be another option. That's all I'm saying."

Tom gazed away, as though trying to tune me out, but I knew he was listening.

"It would be something you'd have the credentials for. It would just depend if it's what you _wanted_." And whether his health held up. I still had little real idea of his condition and how much he should take on.

"What I wanted?" He snapped back toward me. "That's just it Chakotay. _None_ of my options right now – even the _best_ ones – come _close_ to what I… what _we_… wanted, what we were planning... How am I supposed to decided anything without…" He gave up in frustration, turning away to gaze across the bar.

"You miss her a lot." It wasn't a question and it didn't require an answer. I could see it plainly in his eyes. He put up a good front, but he was struggling to hold things together. How could everything between Tom and B'Elanna have fallen apart in a few months? I was desperate to know. I felt anger flare inside me, but I didn't want to place blame, or take sides. I just wanted to understand. Then maybe I'd have a chance to help piece things together again. As uncomfortable as it made me, I decided to ask. I might not get another chance.

"Tom," I began, "When I spoke to B'Elanna six months ago, she told me you were with her at Jupiter Station. She told me you'd resigned from the Turellian Rescue Squad. But she didn't mention why. She didn't mention Turellian fever. She didn't even tell me you were sick. Why didn't she say anything Tom?"

"She didn't know," he said vaguely, without looking at me.

"You didn't tell her?"

"_I_ didn't know," he explained. "No one did. At that time humans were thought to be immune."

"But you had the symptoms?"

Tom turned to look at me for a moment before deciding to reply. "Not exactly," he finally shrugged. "I had no fever. I was just tired all the time. I was kind of run down. I thought I just needed a break. The Rescue Squad was pretty full on."

"I'll bet."

"So I decided to resign, join B'Elanna at the station of course, and take it easy for a couple of weeks, before looking for work. But somehow two weeks turned into two months, and I'd hardly even unpacked. B'Elanna was so busy all the time, she'd leave for work before I even woke up. We hardly talked. We were meant to be saving up and I'd promised her I'd get a job but… I kept making excuses. Then B'Elanna was offered a better position and wanted us to move again. Some days I could hardly cope with dragging myself out of bed and leaving the apartment to pick Miral up from preschool, let alone moving to another sector. I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Eventually I got around to making an appointment at the medical centre. The doctor did a whole lot of tests but couldn't find anything wrong with me. It took a lot longer than I expected. When I got home B'Elanna was furious because I'd forgotten to pick up our daughter. It had also slipped my mind that it was the last day for B'Elanna to accept the job offer. I tried to argue but she wouldn't listen to any of my excuses, she'd heard them all before. I didn't have the energy or the reasoning to win that argument, and B'Elanna made the call to accept the offer. She left with Miral the next day. I woke up and they were gone."

"Then what?"

"What do you mean, then what? Nothing. That's the end," Tom said bitterly.

I looked into Tom's blue eyes and saw the tragedy. Tom truly felt that the moment B'Elanna had walked out of his life had been the end of everything for him. In a flash I understood that it was incredible he was holding things together as well as he was right now. "Tom," I said, but he wouldn't look at me. "This is all a misunderstanding. You and B'Elanna are meant to be together. You have a child together. There must be a way that things can still work out…"

"We better leave, Chakotay. The Doc's expecting me." Tom was putting on his fingerless gloves. He motioned for the cheque.

"Tom," I tried again, but he ignored me. He put on a smile and exchanged chit chat with the waiter as we departed and I was left making impossible promises to myself: that I would find B'Elanna, that I would explain everything right, that I would reunite Tom and B'Elanna, I would get Miral her father back, and that I would make sure the Doctor got the funding to find a cure for Turellian Fever as soon as was humanly (or holographically) possible.


	4. We visit the Doctor

For once, I was grateful for Tom's incessant chit-chat as we made our way from the restaurant to the medical research labs. I can't describe how awkward I felt walking beside him in his wheelchair as he led the way through the corridors. I was never going to get used to looking down to speak to Tom Paris who was actually more than a little taller than me. It felt all wrong. But this wasn't forever, I told myself. The Doctor would find a cure. He had to.

"Just in here," Tom gestured toward the next door on the left and I followed him through into a research laboratory, past several benches of equipment. At one bench a young woman with her back to us was measuring solutions. Her dark braided hair reached all the way to her waist.

"My god! Sam?" Tom exclaimed. "What are you doing here? I can't seem to get rid of either of you today."

The young woman turned around. "I am preparing a series of solutions," she answered matter-of-factly. At first I thought she was Vulcan even though locks of her dark hair covered the tops of her ears and most of her eyebrows, but seeing me, she held out her hand and smiled widely. It was a warm and genuine expression. In my experience Vulcans did not smile. "My name is Samara," she clasped my hand with unexpected strength and again I was confused.

"Quit with the human impersonations, Sam. You're freaking him out," Tom grinned up at us. "Samara, this is Captain Chakotay, who I travelled with on Voyager."

"Pleased to meet you," she said, straight-lipped this time.

"Likewise," I replied. So this was Tom's other student. I remembered that the Australian boy, Greg, had mentioned something about a Vulcan named Sam.

"Sam has a keen interest in human behaviour," Tom explained. "You could say it's her hobby. Endearing, but rather illogical," Tom teased affectionately.

"It is in the interests of my medical studies." Sam pointed out, one hundred percent Vulcan all of a sudden, even raising an eyebrow. "If I am to be treating human patients, I want to know how to make them feel comfortable. I want to develop, as you might put it, a 'pleasant bedside manner'."

I nodded. It actually made a lot of sense. But why was she studying advanced piloting if she wanted to be a doctor? Or why was she working in medical research if she wanted to be a pilot? No doubt she had some kind of logical reason.

"Logical or not, with the Doc around, a pleasant bedside manner can't go astray," Tom motioned ahead. Our EMH Doctor from Voyager had seen us enter. He was waiting, medical tricorder in hand beside a biobed.

Tom wheeled himself forward and I followed, while Samara went back to her solutions.

"Tom, Chakotay, what a surprise!" The Doc looked and sounded the same as always. "Isn't this nice, Chakotay! We can catch up while I inject some experimental drugs into Tom Paris. Today just gets better and better!"

"Sounds great," Tom rolled his eyes. "Doc, can I ask you something?" He swung his chair around deftly, leaning toward the Doctor and motioning for him to lean down. "What is Samara doing here?" he murmured, motioning over his shoulder.

"Ah, yes!" The Doctor spoke loudly. "So you've met my new assistant? She's a top medical student at Starfleet Academy who…"

"Doc, I know who she is, okay? " Tom raised his voice then lowered it again. "She's one of my students."

The Doctor did not seem to comprehend.

"One of the piloting students I've been tutoring?"

"Oh, I see. Well, she told me she wants to focus on medicine and gain more research experience. She offered herself as a volunteer for this project, and considering our lack of funding, and her academic merits, I could hardly decline."

"But Doc, she's my _student_."

"So?"

"Are you worried about her 'pleasant bedside manner'?" I interjected jokingly.

Tom sent me a disapproving glance. "She's my _student_," he repeated.

"Not for much longer." The Doctor assured. "Until then, I can confine her to laboratory preparations if you insist."

"I do." Tom crossed his arms. "Wait, what do you mean, not for much longer?"

"As I said, she plans to focus her career on medicine. Medical research is what she's serious about. Advanced Piloting is just one of her electives, one of her 'fun' subjects, if you will."

"She's Vulcan, she doesn't have fun subjects!" Tom frowned. "Exactly when did this all happen anyway? I was tutoring her just this morning on the holodeck, not four hours ago. She didn't mention anything!"

"Well, I guess it wasn't relevant to the lesson." The Doctor replied smugly.

"I don't get a choice in this matter do I?" Tom sounded resigned.

"No, you don't. It's already done. We did all the 'paper' work yesterday. It's official: Samara is my new assistant. Right now she's preparing the solutions for this trial. Samara!" he called out. "How are the solutions coming along?"

"I'll have them ready in precisely three minutes, Doctor."

The Doctor nodded in extreme satisfaction, a large grinned stretching across his face.

"Wait," Tom was starting to look slightly panicked. "We're starting _now_? _Today_? I thought this was just a check-up. I thought you said we were starting the new trial _next week_."

"I said that last week, Tom," the Doctor explained patiently, as you would to a child. "This _is_ next week."

Tom glanced from the Doctor to Samara (who was probably listening with keen Vulcan hearing). I noticed how his hands gripped the wheels, as if he felt physically trapped. "I don't want to," he said stubbornly.

"Tom, we discussed this last week. We decided it's best that you continue to participate in the trials."

"You and my _father_ decided."

"_You_ signed the forms." the Doctor retorted. He was exasperated. "Why are being so stubborn about this, Tom?"

"I didn't realise it was _today_!"

"What difference does it make?"

Tom said nothing.

I shuffled uneasily before deciding to speak up. "Tom, if this is because I'm here…"

"I'm sorry Chakotay." Tom apologised. "I wouldn't have asked you to come if…"

I had guessed right. "If you'd prefer me out of the way then I can leave you here…"

"I'd have to call Mom, to take me home."

"Okay. Where is she?"

"Damn! She's at tennis. She won't answer. She'll be a while too… And there's no way I'm calling Dad. Shit!" Tom ran his hands through his hair.

The Doctor grinned slyly. "I don't see a problem, Tom. If Chakotay leaves, Samara can always take you home. I'm sure she'd be willing."

Tom clenched his teeth angrily at the suggestion. "That is _not_ going to happen because Chakotay is _not_ leaving. You'll stay, right?" he implored me suddenly, his blue eyes intense. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, and I suddenly found myself his option of choice.

"Of course," I assured him, although I was rather ill at ease with the whole situation. I had no idea what these trials involved. Tom would rather I help him home, than his student, but at least she was a medical student. What would I be required to do?

"I'm glad that's settled!" The Doctor clasped his hands. "Let's begin with the preliminary assessment."

Tom manoeuvred his wheelchair next to the biobed, then looked up at me and then over at Samara, who still had her back turned, apparently still hard at work. "There's no chance we could skip this bit, is there?"

"I'm afraid not." The Doctor shook his head.

"Fine," Tom put the brakes on. "Let's get this over with." He tentatively put his feet on the ground. Then he gripped the wheelchair and pulled himself up with visible effort, until he was standing, facing against the biobed, leaning hard on his hands, the Doctor supporting him under one arm and scanning Tom's legs with his tricorder. His legs were shaking. It was too much. I had to look away. As I did I caught the Vulcan cadet's eye. She was observing us. Expressionless, she held my gaze a moment before turning back to the workbench. I noticed she had finished her solutions. She was now simply stirring the vials with a feigned look of concentration. I felt my eyes narrow unintentionally. It was not something I would openly admit, but Vulcans were hardly my favourite race. Tom seemed to get along with them, but I couldn't help being suspicious of their cold, straightforward logic. Ever since Tuvok had infiltrated my Defiant crew, I guess, I had realised that no matter how reasonable and upfront a Vulcan seems, he is a complicated person underneath that façade. Who knows what motives and agenda his calm demeanour conceals. I wondered what Samara's motives were. So human behaviour was her 'hobby'? Vulcan teenagers were hardly mine! I heard Tom inhale sharply. I turned back to the Doctor and Tom. Tom was wincing.

"Are you in pain?" the EMH asked.

"What do you think? Just regenerate me already!"

"Describe the pain," the Doctor commanded.

"The same kind of pain it always is, damn it!"

"So, what you said last time?"

"Yes!"

"Sharp, stabbing pain? Beginning at the base of the spine and running down your legs?"

"For fuck's sake, yes!"

"Just checking. We want accurate data." The Doctor then took his regenerator and ran it over Tom's legs a couple of times. To my surprise, the shaking stopped and he stood up straighter until he was not leaning against the bed at all. I watched as he shifted his weight carefully from foot to foot.

"You can walk!" I gaped.

"It won't last. It never does." Tom assured me wryly. "I give it half an hour tops."

"The symptoms return rapidly," the Doctor explained, "as the virus reinfiltrates the nerves, the muscle weakness and the pain returns. The drugs we are working on are designed to impede this process."

"How well do they work?" I asked.

"We haven't had much luck so far." The Doctor frowned. "But the drug we are about to try looks promising. Sit down Tom."

Tom did as he was told and sat on the biobed, while the Doctor continued scanning and taking notes. Tom glanced at me as though about to make a comment, then changed his mind and looked away uncomfortably. I turned back to Samara. This time it was not Tom, but me who she was watching intently, and I'd caught her out. I frowned and her eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. I sidled over to her. "Samara, may I have a word?"

"Of course Captain, you may have several," she smiled prettily. Was she simply speaking literally or was I getting cheek from this adolescent Vulcan?

"I want you to tell me exactly why you've signed on to this project," I said a little more harshly than intended. "And please," I added, "drop the smile."

The smile fell from her face immediately, and I was left with the blank calm Vulcan beauty of this odd teenager. Nothing but her lips moved as she spoke like a robot. "I believe the EMH Doctor informed you of my desire to perfect my medical research skills…"

"But surely there are many other research projects you could have chosen!" I interrupted.

"Indeed." Her eyes darted to catch mine suddenly. "This one interested me."

"And the fact that Tom Paris is a patient in this study is a mere coincidence?"

"Not at all," she admitted freely. That was something I had not expected. I was momentarily lost for words. "Captain," she continued, "if you are questioning my motives, let me assure you that I have Tom Paris's best interests in mind." I felt she could have said 'at heart', but that would not have been Vulcan. "I chose this project for three reasons," she explained. "Firstly, the science is intriguing. Secondly this is an area of medicine I want to pursue in my career. Thirdly, the chance to help a friend who has helped and inspired me is not an opportunity I can pass up lightly."

I held her gaze, staring into the depths of those dark-lashed eyes. I knew she was being honest with me, and suddenly I warmed to her. "Tom Paris, inspired you?" I was intrigued.

"Yes," she replied without elaborating.

"How?" I prodded.

"Tom Paris's work with the Turellian Rescue Squad inspired me. When I graduate I want to work with Starfleet Emergency Services as a medical officer, but to do so I also need to have a first-rate pilot's licence. Piloting is one thing for which I do not possess a natural aptitude. But Tom Paris encouraged me to pursue my goal. He showed me that with practice and commitment, I can become a good pilot, just the way he – a natural pilot - became a good medic as well. I am grateful for his confidence in my abilities. If possible, I want to help him in return."

"I sincerely hope it is possible," I replied in a heartfelt whisper. We both looked over to where Tom Paris sat on the biobed answering the Doctors survey questions in an earnest voice. He may be going through a pretty bad time right now, B'Elanna may have left him, but it was obvious to me that he still had a number of very loyal friends around him. "We'll do everything we can," I said out loud.


	5. The medical trial

"Samara," the Doctor called. "Do you have the delivery device ready?"

"Yes, Doctor." I watched as the Vulcan student injected her final solution into a small, curved, medical device with several blinking lights. She took it over to the Doctor, then stood back, at the computer next to the biobed. I stood to the other side of Tom and the Doctor.

Tom, still sitting on the bed, removed the glove from his left hand and let Doctor secure the medical device around his bare wrist. It fastened with a metallic click. "There goes my freedom," Tom said wryly, flexing his wrist, and adjusting the band. I wondered if it reminded Tom of the ankle band he'd wore during his time in prison.

"What freedom?" the EMH asked innocently, unaware of what Tom was talking about.

"Exactly." Tom joked, trying to be light-hearted about it. "Is it activated?"

"Not yet," Samara responded. "I am testing the upload."

"Upload?" I asked.

The Doctor explained. "This wrist device will deliver the drug directly into Tom's bloodstream. It will also continuously monitor his condition and transmit the data to our computers here in the medical lab for the duration of the trial. If anything goes wrong, the device will activate an alarm and we can use it to organise an emergency transport. But I don't foresee that being necessary. Are we ready Samara?"

"The device is functioning as it should," she nodded.

"Excellent." The Doctor grinned. "Tom?"

I saw Tom hesitate before holding his arm out. The Doctor pressed a code into the wrist device, a small blue light flashed and it made a sound similar to a hypospray shot. Tom inhaled sharply, almost pulling his arm back.

"Relax," the Doctor told him.

"I'm receiving the first data," Samara informed the Doctor from the computer console. "No change so far."

"Damn," the Doctor swore.

We waited a few minutes. Tom twiddled his thumbs. "So can I go now? If I leave now, maybe I can even walk home." He swung his legs.

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous," the EMH frowned. "I'm extremely disappointed we are not seeing an effect. Samara, check the readings again. Tom, how do you feel? Any different?"

"Fine. I feel fine. I can't say I'm disappointed either. No effect is better than a negative effect, which is what most of your trials seem to have had so far. I'm liking this one."

"Actually, no effect is even worse," the Doctor corrected. "At least a negative effect means we are on the right track. It means the drug is affecting the virus – we just have to figure out how. No effect at all means we're not even close."

At that moment another researcher entered the room. "Doctor, I'm sorry to interrupt," he apologised. "But I need your superior knowledge and advice on my research results. Could you join me across the hall for a few minutes?" Flattered, the EMH agreed. I smiled to myself. It seemed the other researchers had already learned that the best way to get help from the EMH was to appeal to his ego.

"Samara, clean up the lab benches," the EMH told her. "I'll be back very soon."

She nodded and retreated to the preparation bench to tidy up.

The Doctor turned to me. "Chakotay, see that my patient doesn't try to make an escape."

"I think I can do that," I told him.

After the Doctor left, Tom and I were silent for a few moments.

"Thanks for staying," Tom said.

"It's no problem," I assured him.

"Looks like it won't be, this time." Tom agreed. "This drug is having absolutely no effect."

"Well, it's still only been five minutes or so." I pointed out. "How long do we need to stay here?"

"Well, I think we could leave now. But just like everything else, it seems it's not up to me."

"Better to be on the safe side." I told him, noting the cynicism in his attitude.

"I guess. In fact…" Tom's face paled suddenly.

"Tom?" I asked in concern.

"Maybe I should lie down," he said faintly.

"Is the drug having an effect now?" I asked, dismayed. I wished the EMH had not just left the room.

"On second thoughts…" suddenly Tom jerked himself up again, holding his hand over his mouth. Before I could react, he launched himself from the biobed and across to the basin on other side of the room, near where Samara was working. The next thing I knew he was heaving violently into the basin. Samara got there before I did. She tried to use her Vulcan strength to support Tom as he practically collapsed against the bench, but he held her off. "I'm okay," he tried to insist, before another wave of nausea appeared to hit him. "Oh god," he groaned, leaning into the basin again. Samara grabbed him and gestured toward me with her eyes as I hurried over.

"Stay with him, Captain," she spoke into my ear, as she darted away. I had scarcely reached Tom's side, when she returned fitting a canister into a hypospray. "This will reduce the nausea," she promised as she pressed the hypospray to Tom's neck. Gradually Tom's heaving subsided and he finally stood up, wiping his mouth with a wet cloth Samara held out to him along with a glass of water.

"Let us take you back to the biobed." Samara suggested. "I'll clean up over here."

"Sorry, I didn't see that coming," Tom apologised looking a little shaky and self-conscious.

"It's okay," I put my hand behind his shoulder. With me on his left, and Sam on his right, he carefully walked back to the biobed and sat down. Sam picked up the tricorder by the computer and started scanning.

"How do you feel?" she asked Tom, practicing her kindly bedside manner.

Tom scrutinised at her a moment then said, "Sam, why didn't you let me know you were considering working with the Doc?"

"I do not think I was required to do so," she answered rather curtly, frowning slightly as she studied the data stream.

"I didn't say it was _required_, but it would have been _polite_, don't you think?" Tom said in a patient teacherly voice. It must be difficult trying to discipline a Vulcan teenager.

"Maybe," she conceded. "Yet if I had told you, and you had shown disapproval, or even forbidden my involvement, I would then have been obliged to acquiesce to your wishes."

"Right, so you thought you'd just get around that one. You can't go against my wishes if you don't know what they are. Is that your logic Sam?"

"I do know your wishes. They are quite apparent. You wish for me not to involve myself. Which is not in your best interests." She continued scanning.

"My best interests? What best interests?" Tom scoffed grabbing her hand that held the tricorder. "Sam, you shouldn't be here." He had put his foot down, metaphorically speaking.

They stared each other down and Sam gave in. She put down the tricorder. "I'll get the Doctor," she conceded and left me alone with Tom Paris. He sighed and ran his hand across his forehead.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Honestly? I kinda feel like shit." He grinned wryly. He did still look fale. "But don't worry. I've felt a whole lot worse."

"Oh, that's alright then," I tried not to think about how true that statement might be.

"See this is the thing I hate about these trials. It's not that bad. It's just that I don't know from one day to the next how I'm gonna feel. I can't plan anything. If I'm not in the trials, I know I can't walk, I know I'm gonna have to take painkillers, but at least things are pretty stable. I know how much I can and can't do. Every time the Doc regenerates me for a new drug trial there's the chance the symptoms might come back worse. Sure, there's also the chance of a cure, but I'm not holding my breath."

"It must be tough to weight up those kind of options."

"Ah, Mr Paris!" the Doctor and Samara returned. The Vulcan student stayed over at the lab benches, while the Doctor came toward us. "Samara tells me we are seeing some effects after all! This is excellent!" He picked up the medical tricorder and keyed into the computer console.

"Yeah, puking up my lunch always makes my day," Tom quipped.

"This new drug does indeed seem to be keeping the virus from re-affecting the nerve cells," the Doctor reported.

"Really?" Tom turned around. "If it's working, then how come I feel like crap, Doc? How come I feel worse than before?" Tom asked.

"Side-effects," the Doctor answered, still reviewing the data stream excitedly. "These are excellent results!"

"I don't understand." I had to admit, I agreed with Tom. "If the side-effects are worse than the original symptoms, what's the point?"

"This is research," the Doctor explained. "The breakthrough is that we appear to have discovered a drug that effects the virus. By further studying the mechanisms of its action in the body we may be able to find similar drugs with fewer side-effects, or we may be able to adjust the dose for maximum therapeutic effect. This is only the first step of a long process. But it is a promising first step."

"Yeah, but I still feel like shit," Tom mumbled.

"Let me remind you Mr Paris," the Doctor frowned in irritation at Tom's negative attitude, "that you are not just doing this for yourself. These trials have the potential to help the dozens of other victims who have so far contracted this disease, not to mention many possible cases in the future, if the disease spreads beyond Turellia."

"I know! I know! You don't need to lecture me," Tom sounded tired and annoyed. I guess he'd heard it all before. "I know this is going to help others. I just don't feel very…" Tom stopped speaking, swallowing hard. He tried to speak again but bowed over instead, his hand to his mouth again.

"You need another shot?" the Doctor asked, holding up the hypospray containing the anti-emetic.

Tom nodded, and the Doctor gently gave him another shot. Slowly he recovered and sat up straighter, but he still pressed his hands to his face.

"You were saying?" the Doctor asked calmly.

"What?" Tom looked confused.

"You don't feel very…?" the Doctor recited.

"Altruistic," Tom admitted. his voice weaker now. "I don't feel very altruistic."

"Is that so?" the Doctor replied flatly.

Tom didn't reply for a long while. The EMH started scanning the data stream again. I simply stood to the side, observing passively. "My Dad," Tom spoke out of the blue, his face impassive, his eyes staring across the room, unfocused. "He… he threatened to kick me out if… if I didn't continue with the trials."

I was shocked. "That's ridiculous! Your parents care about you Tom. I don't believe he would do that for minute."

"Of, course not." Tom's voice was shaky and he sounded defensive, as though I was accusing him of something. "It doesn't make any sense. I don't even want to stay there, he knows that, I just don't have anywhere else. He knows that too. We were arguing and… that's what he said. He always has to push me into a corner. I don't get a choice, because I might make the wrong one. It doesn't matter whether he meant it or not because he knew I'd give in. And I did."

So there were still issues between Tom and Owen Paris. I had wondered.

"Tom, listen to me," the Doctor put down his scanners and medical instruments. He turned away from the computer and focused all his attention on Tom Paris. He spoke calmly, almost tenderly. "This is _your_ decision, not your father's, not mine, not anyone else's. If you truly don't want to continue with this trial, if you don't consider it worthwhile, I won't make you continue. I'm willing to remove the drug delivery system, delete the forms you signed. It's up to you."

"You'd cancel the trial?"

"Of course. It's your decision."

"Thanks, Doc." Tom finally replied. "I really appreciate that."

"Okay. So, we'll end things now. I'll get…"

"No," Tom held up his hand. "Let me think." We waited in silence. He took a deep breath. "I'm… I'm going to continue. This trial goes for two weeks, right? I'll see this through. I want to. But I'm going to look at my other options, if I have any. After this trial is up… I'm not making any promises."

The Doctor nodded. "You may go home as soon as your readings stabilise. I'll be in my office. I'll let you know when." Doctor took several PADDS into his office to study.

"Excuse me, Tom." I wanted to have a word with the EMH in private before we left.

"I won't interrupt you for long, Doctor," I said as I entered. "I know you're busy."

"I am busy. And as you observed I have my work cut out for me," he nudged his head toward Tom Paris. "Tom was always a difficult patient. But I always have time to catch up with my fellow Voyager crewmen."

"Thank you Doctor," I said. " I just wanted to say how glad I am that you're working on this with Paris. I'm glad he has you. Maybe you understand him a little better than most people. The two of you often worked closely in sickbay aboard Voyager."

"That's true. He's more comfortable with me than he would be with another Doctor – if more annoying."

"I notice he's not so comfortable with Sam being here." I stated the obvious.

"Samara has a surprisingly high opinion of Mr Paris. I can't quite fathom it."

"Maybe that's what he's worried about. That he's not going to live up to her idea of him?"

"Well, he'll just have to deal with it." The Doctor was blunt. "I was not going to turn her down. With our lack of funding I can't afford to employ even just a laboratory technician, yet with Samara's skills and dedication, I couldn't ask for better assistance. She's the most promising assistant I've had since… well since Kes."

"She's young."

"So was Kes."

"True," I chuckled. In actual years Kes had been a lot younger. "Still, it's high praise. Sounds like Samara may also have a lot to live up to."

"She'll do just fine – and so will Tom. Maybe her presence will even force him to better deal with his negative attitude. Ah! The readings seem to have stabilised. Shall I get Samara to call you a taxi?"


	6. Tom Paris and I talk

After we got inside the apartment Tom left his wheelchair by the sofa and got to his feet. "I'm just going to the bathroom."

"Are you okay?" I asked, hoping so.

"I think I'll manage," Tom assured me with a smirk.

It was true he still had movement in his legs after the Doctor's regeneration and the pain meds he was on, but he was noticeably fatigued despite his considerable efforts to hide the fact. We were both feeling a little awkward and looking back I realise Tom was expecting, or hoping, that having taken him home, I would leave. But the Doctor had asked me to stay with him. I was planning on staying until his mother or father got home.

I sat for a minute then decided to go into the kitchen. I didn't think Tom would be able to stomach any food, but the Doctor had told him to keep his fluids up. I found some soda water and poured two glasses. When I re-entered the living room Tom had returned and was lounging on the sofa.

"Soda water?" I held the glass out.

"Thanks Chakotay," Tom sat up and took his glass, sipping it carefully. "Thanks for getting me home. If you want a drink, are you sure you don't want something stronger? My Dad's liquor cabinet is by the wall. Help yourself."

"Thanks but no thanks." I took a chair beside the sofa. "I don't drink," I reminded him.

"Well there you go, we do have something in common," Tom said dryly. "Neither do I - these days."

I flashed a quick grin in acknowledgement of his attempt at humour.

"Seriously though," Tom leaned toward me against the arm of the sofa, an action that inadvertently drew my attention to the flashing diode on his wristband that signalled the steady release of the drug into his system. "I'm still trying to get my head around this. Do you realise how unexpected these last 24 hours have been for me?"

"How so?" At the time I had no idea what he was referring to. "Do you mean this drug trial? Or you mean about your students? Greg's scheme to get you on the faculty, and then Sam's placement with the Doctor? I guess it's a lot to take on board."

"Oh God," Tom combined a groan and a chuckle. "I'd almost forgotten about that. You're right! My students are all plotting against me!"

A small chuckle escaped my lips also. "All two of them."

"It's enough," Tom became more serious now. "In fact it's almost too much."

"Well, they want to help you." I pointed out. "It does them credit. It does _you_ credit. They truly respect you, Tom. I'm impressed."

Tom shook his head with a wry smile, but made no reply. Did he find it so hard to accept a compliment?

I continued. "And I want to help you too." It was a simple statement and I meant it.

Tom froze. "See _this_ is what I'm talking about, Chakotay. This _is_ too much." He put his glass down and faced me. I noticed him wince slightly as he repositioned his legs. His eyes met mine and I knew he'd realised that his efforts to hide his condition were in vain. He gritted his teeth. "What I can't understand," he said forcefully, "is why are _you_ here?" His tone was unexpectedly aggressive.

"What do you mean?" I reacted in genuine surprise. "You _asked_ me to stay. You…"

"Oh, right. That explains everything!" Tom interrupted. "Come on Chakotay, I know you only came because Janeway asked you to. I know it was really Torres you were hoping to catch up with, not _me_. And I know _you_ don't truly respect me!" he accused. "And yet you're still here. _Why_?"

"What are you suggesting?" I was confused.

"I don't know. You tell me. Do you get some kind of _satisfaction_ out of seeing me like this?" His tone was scathing.

I felt myself turn cold. "Are you _trying_ to insult me?" My words had come out louder than intended, as I tried not to smash the glass in my hand.

Tom backed off, confused. "No," he insisted. "I just need to know why…"

"Why would you suggest something so perverse?" I stormed, rising to my feet. I could feel my anger getting the better of me. "If this is the gratitude I get for trying to help a friend…"

"Wait a minute," Tom threw back at me fiercely, "_Friend_? We're not friends, Chakotay. Since when have we… And I can do with out your help!"

"If you want me to leave, just say so," I suggested coldly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I want you to leave." Tom admitted freely.

"Fine. If that's how you feel," I got up.

As I moved for the door, my anger simmered down to irritation and confusion. I looked back to see Tom's head bowed in his arms. I had to remember how hard this must be for him. I remembered the Doctor asking me to stay with him. I remembered the behaviour of his student Greg, and Samara's dedication. Cautiously I stepped back into the room and stood my ground. He didn't look up. "Tom," I spoke as gently as I could and he slowly looked up.

"I thought you were leaving," he stated wearily.

"I want to say a few things first."

"What's there to say?" he sighed sadly and let his head fall back against the sofa.

"Tom," I began, "I know we haven't always been close…"

"We've _never_ been close, Chakotay. And I know you don't like me. Please, just… don't pretend that you do."

"Tom," I sighed. "That's not true," I keep my voice as low as I could. I didn't want this to turn into an argument but Tom Paris had always had this ability to rub me the wrong way.

"Since when? Since _now_?" Tom turned to face me. "Don't you think you're just confusing friendship with guilt, Chakotay?"

"Tom!" I didn't know what to say. I looked at the man opposite me, who I had known for over ten years now. We had lived together, worked together, fought together over that time. And yet both of us admitted we had never really become close. I did feel guilty about that, about the fact that I had not maintained contact with Paris over the years. "All right," I admitted. "I do feel guilty that I haven't contacted you since Voyager, and that I've been unaware of your situation. It's hard for me to see you like this."

"Oh, it's hard for _you_?" Tom was indignant.

"After all our time in the delta quadrant, can you really think I don't give a damn about you, Tom? Can you really think I'm that heartless?"

Tom swallowed hard, but I don't think it was from the nausea this time.

"Tom, listen to me," I knelt down in front of him. "I honestly thought we'd moved past our differences. I know we don't have a lot in common but that doesn't mean I don't respect you, or even admire you in many ways."

Tom took a deep breath and covered his face with his hands the way he had when Greg had confronted him at lunch. I had no doubt he was wishing I had walked out of the room, but he wasn't getting rid of me so easily. And I was going to make sure he heard what I had to say.

"I have really enjoyed catching up with you Tom," I continued tenderly. "Meeting your students, seeing the EMH, your parents. I can't imagine how rough it's been for you these past six months. All things considered, I think you're handling things admirably and I want you to know that if there is any way I can help, I won't hesitate to do so."

It was several minutes before I got a response. "I'm sorry, Chakotay." Tom said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "About what I said… I'm really sorry. I know you're a man of your word. I just…" He ran his hands through his dishevelled hair. "It's easier to push people away. I seem to have a talent for that."

"Apology accepted," I said sincerely.

My words caused Tom to get choked up. I placed my hand on his shoulder until he calmed down enough to speak. "Well, that's just as well, because… I really do need your help right now," Tom confessed with a weak smile.

It was then that I noticed again how exhausted Tom was. He had been soldiering on, but his energy reserves were up.

"Let's get you to bed?" I suggested.

He nodded sleepily. I braced myself and lifted him from the couch to the wheelchair. It was not as difficult as I had expected. He must have lost more weight than I'd realised. His arms resting on my shoulders felt almost limp. Once in the wheelchair, I took him into the bedroom where we repeated the manoeuvre. As I lifted him onto the bed he practically collapsed against my side. "Hey, hey, hey," I whispered. "Can you stay awake just a little longer?"

"Yeah, I'm awake," he replied hazily.

I removed his jacket, with only his semi-conscious help, and let him fall against the pillows with a sigh. I removed his shoes. And I pulled the covers over him. It was quiet in the semi-dark room. I sat a few moments listening to Tom's breathing and watching the steady flash of blue light from the wrist device. Even though Tom appeared to be asleep, I spoke. "I meant it when I said I wanted to help you, Tom," I told him. "I'm going to find B'Elanna. When she hears the full story about your illness, I know she'll come back."

I hardly expected Tom to hear me, let alone answer, but he opened his eyes at the mention of his wife's name. "If you find her, don't tell her anything," he said slightly groggily. "Give her my number, but don't tell her anything."

"Tom, why not?" I was astounded. I knew how much he missed her. "Don't you want her back?"

"Of course I do. But I don't want her to come back for the wrong reasons - not out of pity, or a sense of obligation. Besides, she's probably better off without me right now."

"But what about you? What about your daughter?"

Tom sighed. I heard his breath rise and fall several time before he repeated, "Don't tell her. I'll tell her myself. If you find her, just ask her to contact me, that's all. Promise me, Chakotay."

My thoughts raced. Was Tom thinking straight right now? Was this what he really wanted? "Tom…" I hesitated.

"Promise me," he pleaded.

"Okay." I gave in. "I won't say a word. I promise." Of course it would matter anyway, unless I managed to find Torres. But I believed I would. I didn't believe it would be so hard, so this was not an empty promise I made. I just hoped I had done the right thing by making it. I remained by Tom's bed until his eyes fell shut and his breathing slowed to that of deep sleep. It would be the last time I'd see him for at least several months. I was leaving Earth the next day, heading out into deep space on my next mission, and somewhere in the sector that awaited me, amongst those millions of stars, was Torres. I would make it part of my mission to find her.


	7. I return 2 months later

I returned to my duties as a Starfleet captain and it was almost two months before I found myself back on Earth again. Although I'd had many cares and responsibilities over that time I did not forget Paris or my promise to find Torres. I tried every avenue I could think of. Yet it was only after I had given up, when I was visiting a deep space transport station on a far-flung planet, a diplomacy mission, that out of pure coincidence, our paths crossed. We could easily have passed each other by, unawares, had circumstances been slightly different. But the stars aligned. And I found Torres.

Now here I was, back on Earth, not three blocks from the Paris's apartment, and I had not contacted Tom Paris. Which is not to say I hadn't thought about him. But maybe Torres was right: It was none of my business and not my place to interfere. And technically I had only promised Paris I would find Torres, not to report back, although I had no doubt he would be eager to know how his estranged wife and daughter were doing. I had given Torres Tom Paris's details, but I doubted very much that she had called him. How could I visit Paris, only to have him find out that I had found Torres, but that she wanted nothing to do with him? Besides I had been busy with one meeting after another ever since I'd set foot back on Earth. I simply hadn't had time to think this through.

At last I had an afternoon break. I'd been indoors for so long, I decided to take a stroll down the street to get a coffee. I stopped outside a quaint little café. After ordering a coffee inside, I went to sit out front on the street and enjoy the weather. I was looking for an empty table when I was startled by a young woman in a summer dress, sitting, hands clasped, almost motionless at one of the small tables out the front. I had almost mistaken her for a statue. She acknowledged my glance with a raised eyebrow.

"Hello Samara," I greeted her. "Fancy meeting you here. I like your dress, by the way. Red suits you."

"Thank you Captain. So I have been told." She flashed me one of her brilliant trained smiles. A smile like that could melt a boy's heart. I wondered if she realised it.

"How's your research going?" I asked. This was awkward. It was stupid, but I was worried she might mention to Paris that she'd seen me. "Are you still working on Turellian fever with the EMH Doctor?"

"I am. We have made some progress."

I hesitated before asking, "And how is Tom Paris?"

"He is no longer involved in our medical trials," she informed me. I was safe. Yet I was disappointed. I had been hoping to get a little more information.

"Captain Chakotay, would you perhaps care to join me…"

Before Sam could finish her invitation, another familiar figure, a tall young man with dark blonde curls arrived at the table, and set down the two large sundaes he was carrying. "Okay, here we are. Double choc sundae for me, and here's your vanilla sundae with coconut topping."

"What was the price? I shall pay for my order."

"No, no, Sam. That's not how it works. It's on me." He grinned suggestively.

"Are you sure Greg?" Sam sounded dubious.

"Absolutely." He was about to sit down next to Sam, when he noticed me. "Captain Chakotay! I'm sorry Sir, I didn't see you." He seemed a little on edge, which was not characteristic, judging from our previous meeting.

"At ease, Greg" I chuckled.

"Would you care to join us?" he offered suddenly.

I looked at the two cadets. They certainly made a cute, if unorthodox, couple. "That's alright. I don't want to intrude. I'll be on my way. It was nice to run into both of you."

"Wait, Captain! You're not intruding. This isn't what it looks like. Sam and I are not…" Was the cadet blushing? It was hard to tell under his tan. "We're not _dating_, if that's what you think. Tell him, Sam."

"We are not," The young Vulcan confirmed. In contrast to his agitation she was a picture of calm. "Knowing my interest in human behaviour, Greg simply offered to educate me on human courtship rituals. It is always more informative to show, rather than tell, is it not?"

"A satisfactory explanation." I smiled.

"Excellent. I'm glad we understand each other," Greg smiled back broadly, his eyes twinkling. "So Captain, you'll take a seat?"

"I'd like that." I pulled up another chair and sat down. "How are your studies?" I asked as my coffee arrived.

"Pretty good," Greg responded beginning on his sundae. Samara followed his lead, obviously having never eaten a sundae before. "Better than last time we met." Then he changed the topic. "You know I spoke to the faculty. I suggested they seek out Tom's expertise in the new course design. They offered him a contract as a consultant!" Greg sounded proud of his initiative.

I was impressed. "And?"

"Tom took the position. He's been working a lot."

"That's good news." I was pleased.

"However," Sam interjected. "He did not show for his last check-up."

"How often do you see him?" I quizzed them.

"Usually once a week, for my lesson." Greg said. "He has an appointment at Sam's med lab every week or so. You?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"When did _you_ see him last?"

"I've been in deep space." I felt almost apologetic. "Last time I saw him was the day I met you two."

"Oh, I see," Greg savoured his sundae thoughtfully. I wondered what he thought he saw.

"How is he?" I wanted to know. "Is he okay?"

"He's Tom Paris," Greg laughed shaking his head, "Of course he's okay, right?" I understood what Greg meant. If asked Tom would rarely admit anything else.

"Speaking medically," Sam told me, "the TF virus went into remission after the last drug trial in which he was involved. While this is not a cure - the virus is still in his system, but appears to be inactive at present – it is a significant improvement."

"Is he still staying at his parents'?" I asked, in case either of the cadets knew.

"I'm not sure." Greg shrugged.

"His address on file has changed," Samara informed me. "But I am not at liberty to divulge such information."

Greg leaned over the table toward me. "Captain, maybe you should give him a call," he advised.

"I will." I suddenly realised how keen I was to catch up with Paris. I still did not know what I would say on the topic of B'Elanna Torres, but it was cowardly of me to avoid the situation because of it.

I planned to call Paris as soon as my meetings were over. By the time I finished up at Headquarters and got back to my hotel room, it was almost 22 hundred hours. I was leaving Earth the next morning and I had to pack. I was clearing out my room when the door chimed.


	8. Tom calls in

When I opened the door of my hotel room, I found myself face to face with Tom Paris. I had to lift my chin slightly to look into the tall pilot's blue eyes. He was grinning. He sounded breathless and his cheeks were flushed. "Hey Chakotay," he said enthusiastically. "I heard you were in town."

"From who?" I asked in surprise. In was great to see him on his feet again. "I was going to call you," I told him. I really was.

"Who do you think?" Paris answered rhetorically. "Can I come in?"

Still almost speechless, I nodded and waved him inside. I was wondering if it Sam or Greg who had told Paris of my whereabouts. Of course I found out later it was neither. Besides, the cadets would not have known what hotel I usually stayed at.

"It's great to see you!" Paris gushed, unslinging his shoulder bag without taking his eyes off me. I felt he was observing me very closely.

"You too," I responded warmly, and we shared a quick embrace. I was glad he seemed much improved from my last visit, but Sam's words rang in my ears: he is improved, but not cured. I hoped he wasn't overdoing things. I remembered on Voyager how carried away he would get when working on a new project – usually a holodeck simulation or a new ship.

"You've been working late?" I asked.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I've been working on some flight simulations for the new-and-improved Advanced Piloting course next year. I dropped by to visit the Doc afterwards. He's been on to me about skipping a few appointments. I got away as soon as I could - I practically ran here. I really wanted to see you. How have you been?"

"Tom…" I paused. As happy as I was to see him, his unbridled enthusiasm was making me cautious. I knew only too well what he was hoping to hear from me. I remember noticing a feverish look in his eyes. It was only later that I would realise how accurate my observation had been.

"What is it?" Tom asked.

"Let's sit down," I suggested. I still hadn't figured out how much I should tell him.

"Okay," Tom took a seat opposite me.

"I don't know how to tell you this…" I began.

"It's okay Chakotay," Tom placated. "I couldn't find her myself so I don't really expect that you, on top of your duties as captain would have had time to …"

"I found Torres," I told him. The memory of it flashed through my mind. B'Elanna, her long, unstraightened hair flapping in the dusty breeze as she barked orders to her engineering crew at the war-torn transporter base she had been commissioned to repair.

"You did?" Tom grabbed my shoulders. "I knew you would Chakotay! I knew it!" He was ecstatic. "So, how is she?"

I didn't know what to say. Tom was so excited and all I could remember was how Klingon B'Elanna had seemed, in more than just her appearance.

"Did she say anything about Miral?" Tom asked, his blue eyes pleading and insistent. They suddenly reminded me of his daughter's. He had the same expression, the same eyes, as Miral had when I told her I was a friend of her Daddy's and she had begged me to tell her more about him. This was hard. I sighed.

Tom drew back. "What is it Chakotay? Oh God, are they okay?"

"Miral's fine. So is B'Elanna." I reassured, before Tom could have a heart attack. "But…"

"But?" Tom gripped the edge of his chair.

"Tom, she's obviously pretty angry about whatever happened between the two of you…" B'Elanna had threatened to beam me off the planet at the mere mention of Tom Paris's name.

"I'll bet she is." He didn't seem fazed.

"She doesn't want me to interfere." Torres had promised me I'd regret it if I did.

"Of course she'd _say_ that! So?" Tom dismissed my caution.

I swallowed. We stared each other down until Tom began to get the message.

"What are you saying Chakotay? You… You're not going to tell me where she is?" Tom was incredulous. "I'm not sure you realise how much I've been thinking about this. I've written…" Tom reached for his bag, opening it and grabbing a PADD. "I've written her a letter. It's right here. It's ready to send. As soon as you tell me where she is! Come on, Chakotay! Please!"

"Tom," I spread my hands. I should never have got involved. This was so hard.

"Fine." Tom jumped to his feet. "Are you logged on to this computer?" He went to the desk and brought up the screen. I was not immediately aware of what he was thinking. "You must have written it down somewhere in your personal log."

"Tom!" I also jumped up.

"Relax, Chakotay! I wouldn't read your log." Instead he brought up a map of the sector I had recently returned from. "I do have some idea of where she must be, you know. Is she…" Tom squinted at the screen. "There," he pointed to a star system. "Is she in Hedron's system?"

"No, Tom." I shook my head sadly.

"How about… this one. Is she on Jeruba?"

"Tom…"

"Warmer or cooler? Am I getting close?"

"Tom, this isn't a game!" I was exasperated.

"Well, _I_ know that, Chakotay!" he insisted with fiery eyes. "Do _you_? Seriously, you're _really_ not planning to tell me where she is?"

"If I was to tell you, right now, where B'Elanna is, what would you do?" I asked him. I wanted to be rational about this. I had to make sure I was doing the right thing.

"Are you _kidding_ me? I'd be on the next flight _out_ of here!" Tom gestured toward the door.

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"Hell, I don't know if it's _wise_!"

I sighed. "Tom, please sit down. I want you to understand. I've placed myself in a difficult situation here, and I need to decide on the best course of action for everyone concerned. The way you're acting is not helping."

"The way I'm acting? How am I acting? What do you expect…"

"Tom, please calm down," I raised my voice. "I need to think this through."

"Fine." Tom took a deep breath and sat down opposite me again. However he didn't stay quiet for long. "What is there to really think about, Chakotay? I need to know. Just tell me. What did B'Elanna say about Miral? She must've grown so much. Oh god, I wish I could see her."

"Tom," I took a deep breath, "I was understating when I said B'Elanna was angry at you. So I have to ask… what really happened between you two? I know you were not well and B'Elanna didn't realise that, but… is there more to it than that?"

Tom sighed. "It's complicated. I admit I didn't handle things well. B'Elanna would get so defensive and I would just back off. I just felt I couldn't please her. I didn't have the energy to sort things out so I… I tried to ignore the situation. I couldn't deal with her accusations. Especially when they were true."

"What do you mean her accusations? Tom, were you… unfaithful?"

"No! Is that what you think? Is that what _she_ thinks?"

"I don't know, Tom. I don't know what to think. B'Elanna swore that she told you where she was going. Why would she lie about that?"

"She did?" Tom was confused.

"She said she was counting on you to join her on the next flight out, a week later. When you didn't, she tried to call you at Jupiter Station and got no reply."

"What? Really?" Tom thought. "I guess… it's possible that she told me. The truth is, I'm _not_ telling you everything I know, I'm telling you _more_. Chakotay, the truth is… I don't remember how our last argument ended. I remember I had forgotten to pick up Miral and we were arguing about that. Then B'Elanna told me she'd accepted this job but… that's the last thing I remember. I don't remember her telling me where she was going. I don't remember her leaving. Just like I don't remember meeting my friend at the pub the next day. It's all… a blank. Until I wake up at Starfleet Medical on Earth one week later."

"Tom, why are you so sure B'Elanna left you, if you can't even remember?"

"That's what I was told. Apparently I told Elliot that my wife had left me, and the information got passed on."

"Slow down. Who's Elliot?" I was confused.

"Elliot Lloyd was friend I worked with on Turellia. We'd catch up whenever he was passing through. He was the one with me when… when I collapsed. Of course I don't remember that either."

"Tom, this changes everything! B'Elanna didn't leave you. She thinks you left her."

"Oh shit." Tom closed his eyes.

"Tom, you and B'Elanna need to sort this mess out." I had made up my mind. "Unfortunately she's to far away for a direct call. Tom, I don't recommend you fly out there, but her contract finishes in two months. You should write to her and try and explain things. She's in the Dartesian System. She's in charge of repairing the transporter base on Dartesia 4. I'll give you her contact details."

"You will?"

"That's what I said."

"Thanks Chakotay," he flung himself forward and hugged me, catching me off guard. "You're a real friend."


	9. Admiral Paris interrupts

I pulled away from Paris's embrace in alarm. "Tom, are you alright?" His skin had felt very hot against mine.

"What do you mean? Now I know where B'Elanna is, I feel better than I have in months!"

We were interrupted by an incoming call on my computer. "This is Captain Chakotay," I responded, accepting the call verbally and tilting my head so I could see the screen over Paris's shoulder. I was surprised to see Admiral Paris's face appear on the screen. "Captain Chakotay, I'm sorry to interrupt your evening, but this is urgent. I am wondering if you know the where-abouts of… my son." We saw the Admiral raise his brow in surprise as Tom turned at the sound of his father's gruff voice.

"Dad! Are you still keeping tabs on me?" Tom protested, pulling away from me quickly as if caught out doing something he shouldn't. "What was the point of me moving out if you're going to keep…"

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Thomas. You can't wander off like that without telling anyone where you're going. Your mother was expecting you for dinner at nineteen hundred!"

"Well, _she_ didn't call. What's _your_ problem?" Tom was irritated. "I can't visit a friend without your permission?"

"I'm coming over to get you right now." The Admiral barked. Tom rolled his eyes. His father ignored this and turned to me. "Captain Chakotay, is there a replicator in your hotel room?"

"Yes, there is, Admiral." I wondered why he was asking.

"Replicate some icepacks," the Admiral ordered. "Don't let my son get too worked up. He needs to remain calm. I'll be there soon."

"Dad?" Tom said, his voice quiet now, as if he was almost afraid to ask. "What's going on?"

There was a pause as the Admiral turned to face his son. "Thomas, I received a call from the EHM Doctor 40 minutes ago. He said your TFV readings were off the chart."

From the expression on Tom's face I gathered this was serious. Tom sank to his seat looking shocked.

"Just stay right where you are, son. We're organising an emergency transport to Medical Research as soon as we can." The Admiral's image disappeared abruptly leaving the room silent. Neither Paris nor I spoke for several seconds.

Tom placed his hand against his forehead. "Am I hot? I don't feel hot."

I placed my hand over his. His hand and his forehead were much hotter than they should have been. "Maybe just a little," I lied.

"How much is a little?" Tom didn't believe me. He jumped up from his seat in alarm, but I held his shoulders firmly. "Stay here," I commanded, hoping he couldn't see the fear in my eyes as plainly as I could in his. He gave in and did as I asked.

I replicated several icepacks and a thermometer from the first aid menu, and returned to Tom's side. He had taken off his jacket and I handed him an icepack, which he took and held against his neck. I checked his temperature but he grabbed the thermometer from me before I could keep him from seeing the reading. "Are you sure this thing is accurate?" he asked. The reading was high.

"Maybe you should lie down," I suggested and this time Tom obeyed without a word. He lay down on the sofa, and took the other icepacks from me, holding then against his flushed skin. "This is bad, Chakotay," he told me, his eyes wide. "You know that right?"

"Just stay calm, it will be okay. We'll get you to the Doctor as soon as possible," I assured him, which was all I could do. His temperature was still rising.

The admiral burst into the hotel room. Seeing Tom, he headed straight to his side, with barely a nod in my direction. "The transport should be only a few more minutes, Tom. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just great," Tom lied with a feeble smile. "Is Mom here too?" he attempted to sit up, but the admiral restrained him.

"Don't be ridiculous. She's still back at the apartment. You know how she panics."

Tom fell back against the sofa. "Thank god, 'cause I was lying. I'm not okay," he confessed. "I'm scared, Dad. I can't do this again!"

"For god's sake Tom, just because you mother's not here doesn't mean you can go to pieces on me! You're as bad as she is!"

"You didn't leave her alone, did you?"

"Of course not. Relax, Thomas. You don't need to worry about _her_."

"Right. Right, of course not. Just myself."

"You're going to be fine." The Admiral promised. "We know better how to treat the virus this time around."

Another call came through. It was the Doctor. "I'm sorry admiral, but the emergency transfer is still another ten minutes away. It seems there is quite a queue of emergencies today. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

"This is ridiculous! Let me speak with them." The admiral rushed to the computer. "This is Admiral Paris. I requested an emergency transport almost 20 minutes ago! There better be a damn good reason for this kind of inefficiency! Who's in charge here?"

I took the admiral's place at Tom's side, bringing a cool wet cloth to his forehead. His breathing was rapid and shallow.

"Try to take deep breaths, Tom," I told him, while the admiral argued over the comm. system in the background.

He held my gaze as he concentrated on taking my advice.

"That's it," I encouraged.

"The Captain. She told me to find you here, Chakotay."

"Janeway?" I assumed, although Kathryn was an admiral now. Was she in town? I was about to ask, when Tom spoke again.  
"What's wrong Chakotay? You look worried. Is Voyager under attack?"

My heart fell. It took me a moment to answer quietly: "Tom, we're not on Voyager."

I studied his blue eyes, wondering what was going on behind them. "No, of course not," he sighed. "It's just that you're here… and the captain…" His face crumpled. "What's going on? I'm confused."

"It's all right," I comforted. "Just stay with me, Tom."

"No. No, there's something important I'm forgetting. I came to see you. You told me something. Something about…"

"Tom, you need to calm down." His condition was deteriorating rapidly.

"I have to get out of here! I have to find B'Elanna!"

"Not now, Tom. Listen to me. You need to calm down. Take a deep breath." He was obviously very confused. The way he looked at me I wondered for a moment if he even knew who I was.

"Chakotay?" he whimpered.

"It's okay, I'm here."

He seemed to calm down as I caressed his face with the wet cloth.

His wide blue eyes watched me remorsefully. He wet his lips and spoke. "You're a good friend but I can't do this again, Elliot. I can't..." Then his eyes fell shut, and his body started shaking in spasms.

"He's seizing!" I shouted in alarm.

Luckily the admiral had managed to use his influence to jump the transport queue. "Stand by for emergency transport," a voice over the comm. system sounded, and Tom Paris's form disappeared before me.


	10. Back at Medical Research

My heart was pounding in my chest as I accompanied the Admiral to the EMH Doctor's lab at the Starfleet Med Research facility. As we entered I saw Tom Paris lying limp and unmoving on the central biobed. He was stripped down to his underwear, covered by a sheet, and icepacks were placed around his neck and his shoulders. I felt my fists clench involuntarily. To see Tom in this state was distressing me more than I had realised. It was scary how quickly it had all happened.

The EMH Doctor greeted us solemnly. "Thank you for getting him here so promptly.

"How is he?" I asked.

"His temperature is down but not stable yet," the Doctor told me gently. "I'm reducing his temperature by applying ice water internally."

I looked again over at the biobed and saw the two tubes that ran from the biobed control station, and disappeared under the sheet that covered the lower half of Tom's body. I tried not to think about were those tubes led, but the important thing was that this was getting Tom's temperature down. "Once I have him stabilised," the EMH continued, "I can we begin the drug treatment, which Samara is preparing as we speak." I glanced across the room to where the Vulcan student was working with her usual cool efficiency.

I nodded mutely.

When I noticed Tom's head move slightly and he sighed almost imperceptibly, it was Owen Paris who rushed to the patient's side. I felt as if my feet were glued to the ground. I simply watched as Tom struggled to open his eyes.

"Dad?" Tom's voice sounded weak.

The admiral leaned over his son's prostrate form, and cradled his head. "I arrived as soon as I could," he said gruffly.

I watched Tom raise an arm, grabbing weakly at the admiral's shirt as he attempted to sit up. "You have to listen to me," he begged. "We need to evacuate. We need to get everyone out of here." His eyes were lit with a frantic urgency.

"Don't be ridiculous! Nobody's evacuating," the Doctor replied abruptly ignoring Tom's demands, and pushing him back against the biobed. "Nobody's going anywhere, unless I tell them to!" He concentrated on scanning Tom's vital signs. "I may need to sedate him if his readings don't stabilise soon. Unfortunately the treatment will be less effective under sedation." He frowned.

"What's going on?" the admiral asked.

"As soon as Samara has it prepared, we are going to start Mr Paris on a course of drug 23, which has shown the best results in the drug trials with my other patients. It should reduce the extensive damage the virus is wreaking on his nervous and muscular systems."

"But what's this talk about evacuating?"

The Doctor sighed, rolling his eyes. "Mr Paris has been hallucinating," he explained quietly. "He thinks he's back on Turellia. He thinks he needs to save us from some kind of natural disaster. I'm surprised he seems to recognise you Admiral. He's under the impression that I'm one of the Turellian leaders."

"Thomas," the admiral took his son's shoulders. "We are not in danger. It's going to be alright, but you need to calm down."

Tom would not be placated. "No. You have to make him listen to me!" Tom's eyes were wide with fear. "The volcanic eruption will cause a tsunami… last time we lost 58 people. If it wasn't for Elliot and I… there would have been more… you have to listen! We have to get everyone out!"

The admiral was at a loss for how to comfort Tom in his delirium.

"Sam," the Doctor called. "We'll have to sedate our patient after all. Please load a hypospray and bring it over immediately!"

"Yes Doctor," Samara brushed past me as she approached fitting a canister to a hypospray. I stepped out of the way to allow her through. I was very conscious of my own helplessness. I may be a Starfleet Captain, but there was nothing I could do to fix this situation.

The Vulcan girl leaned over Tom, scanning carefully to determine the necessary dose. I could see Tom's focus shifting. "What are you doing?" he asked her wide-eyed, grabbing her hand before she could deliver the shot.

"The situation is under control," she faced Tom, perfectly calm as she pried his pale fingers from her slim wrist. "Your job is done Commander Paris. No one is going to die today. Congratulations on an excellent rescue." She smiled. I could see what she was doing. Instead of denying it, she was playing along with Tom's delusion. It seemed to work. Tom visibly relaxed.

"Finally. I thought they'd never listen," he sighed, passing his hand over his eyes then through his sweat-drenched hair. When he looked at Samara again he seemed to see her more clearly and he smiled weakly. "God, I'm glad your here," he sighed, letting her gently press him back down on the biobed. "I didn't want you here, you know. I thought it was too risky. But I'm so glad you came."

"I apologise." Samara spoke with sincerity. "For not informing you of my placement. It was wrong of me. You were right Tom. I should have discussed it with you first. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," he grabbed her hand. "God, I've missed you so much B'Elanna!"

"What did he say?" I gasped at B'Elanna's name. It seemed Tom was still hallucinating. Did he think the Vulcan student was his wife?

"Who's Balana? Samara demanded in alarm, catching my shocked gaze.

"B'Elanna Torres." Owen Paris replied impassively. "She's Tom's wife."

"I cannot stay here!" Samara pulled away immediately. Owen grabbed her, stopping her from leaving the room.

Seeing the sudden confusion on Tom's face, I rushed forward, taking her place by his side.

"Why not?" the Doctor demanded, surprised by Samara's sudden retreat. "His readings were almost stable!"

"What did I say? Why's she leaving?" Tom was frantic, and more than little confused.

"Tom, she's not…"

"Chakotay, she can't leave me!" He was going to pieces. "I can't do this without her. Not again… tell B'Elanna I need her," he pleaded grabbing my arm. His eyes were desperate and searching, his hand clammy against my skin.

"His readings are destabilising," the Doctor confirmed. We were losing him.

"Then sedate him already!" I raised my voice unintentionally. "I thought that was the plan!" I picked up the hypospray that Samara had dropped.

"Only plan B. The treatment's more effective _without_ sedation," the Doctor explained, grabbing the hypospray from me and deactivating it. "Plan A is that we stabilise him _another_ way. And I think we just found that way: _Sam_." He grabbed Samara by the arm, almost dragging her back towards Tom's side. "Did you not hear our patient? He said he needs you."

"He needs his wife!" Samara and I protested at once.

"His _wife_ is not here," the EMH pointed out. "_You_ are."

She was shaking her head.

The Doctor grabbed her shoulders. "Right now I don't care if he thinks you're the purple-headed people eater, if that's what he needs to believe to get through this!"

Samara narrowed her eyes. "You want me to play along. You want me to pretend."

"Yes! Which you were doing very nicely until you panicked!"

"Vulcans do not panic." Samara asserted.

"Then what would you call it?"

Samara said nothing.

"Please listen to me, Samara. I know you impersonate humans faultlessly. And it seems you can even pull off a human/klingon. Tom already thinks you're his wife. All you have to do is play along and give him the support he needs. I am confident that you are more than capable of that."

"That is not the issue."

"Then what is?"

"Doctor, the ethics of this situation are more complicated than you…"

"Samara," the Doctor interrupted, "I happen to know you took this placement, in part, specifically to help Tom Paris. Is that not so? Now help him. You're the only one here who can."

Samara wavered. She looked to the admiral for consent.

He nodded. "Do as the Doctor says."

Samara gave in. I relinquished my position and the Vulcan girl took Tom's hands again.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" Tom said. "You're not… you're not leaving?"

"Of course not," Sam's voice trembled slightly. "But you need to lie down. And you need to stay calm."

"Okay," Tom gave in. "But I don't understand what's happening."

"Don't worry about it for now. Just do as I say and everything will be okay," she crooned softly, her cool demeanour melting away. I even thought I saw tears in her eyes. But were they crocodile tears?

"Where am I?" his words were barely audible.

"You're at the medical labs, Tom. You're not well." Samara affected a slightly husky voice, full of emotion. "The Doctor's here. We are doing everything we can. And I'm definitely not leaving you."

Tom appeared to relax as he gazed at her dark liquid eyes.

"Okay," Tom leaned in close as she caressed his cheek. "Whatever you say… as long as you stay." The Doctor confirmed that his readings were stabilising.

My heart, on the other hand, was pounding. Samara had never met Torres, yet somehow, I could almost see her through Tom's fevered eyes. There was something of B'Elanna's spirit in her, a pride and a stubbornness, that allowed Tom, in his confusion, to delude himself into believing she was his wife. If the real B'Elanna Torres could see this scene, I had no doubt she'd want to rip the little Vulcan impostor's throat out. But she couldn't. The real B'Elanna Torres was light years away, working on that desolate worn-torn transport base, oblivious to her husband's plight. If only I had told her when I'd had the chance.

As Tom's condition stabilised, the Doctor brought over the medical wrist device containing the drug treatment. Samara helped Tom to sit up.

"Tom, we need to start this treatment now. We'll keep you on this treatment until the fever subsides. This drug will cause you to feel groggy, but it will reduce the long-term effects of the fever."

"The fever? The epidemic is spreading isn't it? Has someone told Elliot what's happening?"

Samara frowned quizzically.

"Give me his hand," the Doctor said.

Tom began to panic as the Doctor fitted the medical device to his wrist.

"It's okay," Sam comforted. "We need to do this."

"Promise me you'll tell Elliot what's happening," Tom begged. "B'Elanna I know you don't like him but..."

"He'll be informed," I broke in. "I'll see to it that your friend is informed Tom, I promise." Here I was making another promise I did not understand. But it worked and Tom allowed the Doctor to activate the wrist device.

Tom gasped as the potent drugs were delivered into his bloodstream.

"It's okay, Tom," Samara reassured. She held his gaze while the Doctor monitored Tom's levels and adjusted the drug release rate to keep his vital signs stable. Tom groaned, "I feel strange," he said, before closing his eyes and collapsing heavily against a surprised Samara.

"When will he stop hallucinating?" I confronted the Doctor aggressively. "When will he realise that Sam is not his wife?"

"It's difficult to determine." The Doctor admitted. "Even when he's not feverish, I sometimes find Mr Paris's grip on reality tenuous at times," he quipped, rolling his eyes..

"This is hardly the time or place for humour, Doctor."

"A matter of opinion," the Doctor reasoned. "What matters most is that we have Tom stabilised and that the treatment is working."

"I agree. But I need to know - how much of this will he remember?" I demanded.

"It's hard to say for sure. He may have vague memories of what is happening now. However it is unlikely he will remember the events preceding his collapse."

I groaned audibly. He would not remember meeting me at the hotel. He would not remember that I had found B'Elanna. He would not remember where she was. But he would remember this. What was going to happen when the fever cleared and he realised it was not his wife at his side, but his former student? I'd made a mess of things. Screw Tom's insistence on telling Torres himself. Screw B'Elanna's denial of wanting to sort things out with Tom. I knew she still cared about him. And what about Miral? I'd made the wrong call, and this was the result. I punched the bunch with my fist, almost welcoming the physical pain that spread through my hand.

"Chakotay!" the Doctor grabbed a regenerator, but I pulled away, breathing hard.

"I'm fine," I insisted, leaning against the bench, swearing under my breath.

"I can see that," the Doctor was sarcastic. "Captain, I think you need to take a walk."

The Doctor's suggestion irritated me, but the truth was I suddenly realised it was exactly what I wanted to do. Maybe he was right. I needed some time out. "Fine." I turned brusquely to exit the lab. I hardly noticed Owen Paris's wife arriving to join her husband. Another woman had arrived with her, and slipped through the door behind her just as I exited. I literally ran straight into the familiar figure.

"Kathryn!" I gasped. "What are you doing here?" The moment felt surreal, as though I too was hallucinating.

She looked so calm in the midst of chaos. "Owen asked me to bring his wife here, now that Tom's condition is stable," Janeway explained, her forehead creasing in concern. "How are you?"


	11. I talk with Janeway

"You're surprised to see me, Chakotay," Kathryn Janeway noticed. "I spoke with Tom yesterday. I told him to visit you at the hotel. He didn't tell you?"

"I see." That certainly explained things. "Tom did mention you. But… I wasn't sure he was lucid then," I said gravely. "It's good to see you."

She nodded. "I only wish we were meeting in less troubled circumstances." She squeezed my shoulder in sympathy. "Let's talk outside."

She led me into the foyer where I sank onto a low seat, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. I could feel her eyes on me, and I knew she was concerned. "I'm okay, Kathryn. I'm just a little… rattled," I assured her. I wondered if she realised how serious Tom's condition had been. "Tom's… he's stable now but… things were pretty tense."

"The Doctor says he's doing well," she reassured. "It's not as bad as last time."

"That's what everyone keeps saying. I don't see how much worse it could have been!"

Janeway sighed and took a seat next to me. "You weren't there," she pointed out.

"And you were?"

"Yes."

"Really?" This was new information.

"The Admiral called me as soon as he had Tom transported back from Jupiter Station," she explained.

"And his condition was worse than… than tonight?" I found that hard to believe.

Janeway paused before revealing, "He was in a coma for a week. All that the doctors could do was keep him stable. We just had to wait and hope he regained consciousness." She stared ahead, a pained expression on her face as she recalled the events.

"There was no treatment for the fever?" I asked.

She turned to face me. "Chakotay, no humans had been diagnosed with Turellian fever at that time. It's very hard to detect. And the symptoms present differently in humans so it wasn't even considered. No one knew what had happened to Tom and the doctors could only theorise. Not knowing… that was the worse part."

"If not the fever, then what did they think was wrong with him?"

Janeway sighed. "We had so little information. B'Elanna had quit her job at Jupiter Station and disappeared. No one knew where she was. The only person who knew anything was a man who'd been at the bar with Tom when he collapsed."

"Elliot Lloyd?"

"I can't recall his name. But it was through him that we found out B'Elanna had left Tom just the day before so…the doctors suspected an overdose."

"An overdose? Of what?"

Janeway shrugged. "There are any number substances that are undetectable in the body after 24 hours."

"Are you saying they thought that Tom… that it was… a suicide attempt?" The suggestion made me angry.

"We had so little to go on," Janeway sighed. "It was the best explanation. His parents were distraught. When Tom began to regain consciousness I hoped that we would know one way or the other… but he didn't remember what had happened."

"So when was he diagnosed?"

"Not until several weeks had passed. By that time several cases had come to light – soldiers, rescue workers, who had been on Turellia during the fever outbreaks. They had similar symptoms to Tom's, severe muscle weakness, fatigue, chronic pain – those who were still alive. Starfleet Medical began to realise that humans were not immune to the Turellian Fever as previously thought. All human officers serving on or around Turellia were pulled out until further notice."

"I remember reading about that. It was the first I had heard of Turellian Fever. If only if was the last."

"Do you wish I hadn't dragged you into this?"

"Of course not. I'm grateful. I should have put more effort into staying in contact with Tom and B'Elanna."

"How long are you here?"

"I have to leave at dawn," I groaned, realising I still had to pack. "What am I doing to do?"

"You're the Captain of a Starship. You do what you have to do."

"So I'll leave at dawn." I got to my feet.

"Can I help in any way?"

"I'd appreciate that."

Kathryn accompanied me back to my hotel room where I packed my things as efficiently as I could.

"I think that's everything," I announced when I was done.

"What's this?" Janeway asked picking up a PADD from the coffee table.

At first I had no idea what it was, but then I remembered. "Tom gave it to me. It's a letter."

"A letter?"

"To B'Elanna."

"If only we knew where to send it."

I hesitated. It would be good to talk to a friend about this I decided. "I do," I revealed.

Janeway's eyes widened. "Really?"

"I saw B'Elanna on my last mission."

"Chakotay, that's… amazing! You told her what's going on? No one's known how to contact her. As Tom's wife she should be his medical proxy on his treatment. And Miral… how is she?" Janeway seemed almost as excited as Tom had been when I told him.

"I was stupid," I admitted.

"What?"

"I didn't tell her."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Tom didn't want me to. He wanted to explain things himself – in person. But Torres is so stubborn! They'd been having some problems and… she was so angry! She didn't want to listen. I gave her Tom's details. I told her to call him. She hasn't."

Janeway sat down, letting my words sink in. "Where is she?" she turned to me.

"Dartesia 4."

"Really? That was a war zone up until a year ago! No wonder Tom couldn't find her! They still have strict security in and out of that system. Why would she take Miral out there? What was she thinking?"

"Like I said: she was angry."

"So she takes it out on her family?"

"I think she's angry at herself. That she couldn't make things work. She needs some space."

"Well she's got that all right. She may as well be in the delta quadrant! You didn't tell Tom that you saw her did you?"

"Why not?"

"She's so far away, and if she won't even talk… it could just make things harder for him."

"I told him, but he doesn't remember. It was right before his relapse. So what do you think I should do?"

"How long would it take for this letter to get to Dartesia?"

"About a week - if it gets through security. You think she'll read it?"

"Of course she'll read it."

"I doubt B'Elanna will be able to leave her post until the end of her contract – even if she wants to."

"That's her problem. At least she'll know what's going on. She should be informed."

I agreed. "I'll send it right now." I turned to my computer while Janeway replicated some herbal tea. After sending the letter I found myself typing in the name 'Elliot Lloyd'. Maybe it was none of my business, but it seemed strange to me that no one knew him and yet he was the only one who knew anything about what had happened to Tom back on Jupiter Station all those months ago.

"What are you doing?" Kathryn asked, bringing over our cups of tea.

"Look at this! Is his the Elliot Lloyd Tom met in the pub?"

"What does it say?"

"Elliot Lloyd, human, age 47, convicted of illegal transport of goods or services in or out of a restricted system, currently held at… Jupiter Station Prison."

"How did you find that?"

"It was a lot easier than finding Torres." I flicked off the computer and shouldered my bags.

"Chakotay, what are you doing? You don't have to leave for several hours."

"I do if I want to speak to this Elliot Lloyd character before I exit the system."

"You're going to Jupiter Station? Now? What are you hoping to learn?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Tom said something earlier about B'Elanna not getting on well with Elliot. He seems like a dodgy character."

"You think he has something to do with their break-up?"

"I wouldn't rule it out."

"Chakotay, this is insane. You're upset."

"I'm no use to Tom here. He has his parents, the Doctor, Samara, you. But I can't just sit around for the rest of the night. And I can't sleep. You can't change my mind Kathryn. I don't care what you think. I have to do something. I'm going."

"Fine. I'll come with you." She followed me out the door.


	12. I meet Tom's Friend

We took a shuttle from Starfleet head quarters. It felt like old times as I navigated us out of orbit and into space, while Kathryn checked the control panel to my right. As Jupiter came into sight, I adjusted our course until we were headed toward the busy Station that was dwarfed by the huge gas giant planet it orbited. It was a spectacular sight. As we neared the Station I could see that my Starship was already docked there. No doubt my crew would begin to arrive in the next few hours.

"Which way to the Prison?" I asked once we'd docked the shuttle.

"This way," Janeway pointed.

"Let's go."

We strode through the busy corridors side by side. Officers and civilians made way for us respectfully. It may have been 0200 hours, but Jupiter Station was in full swing 24/7. Finally we arrived at the Prison facility. "I just hope visiting hours don't apply," I pointed out.

"Don't worry," Janeway assured. "I'm an admiral, remember? I'll get you clearance." She strode up to the security guard. "The Captain and I are here to speak with one of the prisoners. His name is Elliot Lloyd."

"Yes, Admiral Janeway," he nodded. "Wait here."

The guard disappeared and we waited. I tapped my fingers impatiently on the counter, wondering what exactly I was going to say to this man.

"Probably has to wake him up," Janeway commented. "I hope he won't be too annoyed about it."

"I couldn't care less," I said a little harshly. "He's in prison, for god's sake. It's not like he needs his beauty sleep!"

Kathryn gave me a look of disapproval. I knew she thought I was acting impulsively, that my suspicions were unfounded.

The guard reappeared. "This way," he directed.

I took a deep breath and followed. We were led to a room containing a table in the centre. A man sat lazily at one end. The guard signalled for us to take the two seats at the other side. "The forcefield runs through the middle of the room, though the centre of the table, separating you from the prisoner," he informed us. "Let me know if you need anything." With that he left us.

I focussed my attention on the prisoner facing us. He was leaning back in his chair, dressed in his rumpled grey prison garb, tapping his foot impatiently. His sandy blonde hair was tousled and his face weathered and unshaven. He peered at us through sharp hazel eyes while drawing on, of all things, a cigarette. It was like a scene out of a bad cop movie. I took an instant dislike to the man.

"Put out the cigarette," I told him.

He grinned. "What's it to you, Captain? The forcefield won't let the smoke through. You don't need to worry about your precious lungs."

He blew a stream of smoke and we watched the forcefield glitter as the particles were deflected.

"It's a disgusting habit," I pointed out.

He raised his eyebrows. "Then you'll be pleased to know I only smoke when I'm disgusted with myself." He took another sharp draw as if to intentionally annoy me.

"What are you disgusted about?"

"What do you think? Look were I am!" he held up his hands. "Again!"

"So you regret your crimes?"

He chuckled. "No Captain, I do not regret my crimes. Not this time. I just regret being caught, that's all." He grinned ruefully, putting out his cigarette stub against the tabletop. "So what brings the two of you here? It's not everyday I'm honoured with a visit from a Starfleet Captain, let alone an Admiral as well. Last time I spoke with an admiral was…" He gazed past us, remembering. "Fuck," he swore under his breath and turned morose. "What do you want from me?"

"We simply want to ask you a few questions." Janeway told him almost pleasantly.

"Fire away, Admiral. I've got nothing to hide." He leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head.

It was an arrogant gesture and it irritated me. I narrowed my eyes. Could I believe anything this man said? I doubted it. I cleared my throat. "I understand you have spent some time on Turellia. Did you have much contact with the Starfleet Rescue Squads stationed there?"

"I run… correction, ran… a cargo ship, transporting goods in and out of Turellia. I know that system better than anyone, Captain. I helped the Rescue Squads during evacuations, delivering food and medical supplies – when they'd let me."

"You helped them? Let me guess, for a fee?" If he was trying to win me over with his good deeds, I was unimpressed.

"Of course, Captain. I run a business, not a charity," he smirked.

"So you didn't get on well with the officers?"

"Oh, I got on all right with some of them. Thankfully not all officers have the superiority complex you seem to have, Captain."

I gritted my teeth. "What else did you transport besides food and medical supplies? Tobacco, I take it? What contraband items caused you to end up here? Illegal drugs?"

"No! Captain, haven't you even read my case file?"

"No," I had to admit. I had been in too much of a rush to read the whole document.

He leaned towards me and admitted. "The only illegal thing I transported, Captain, was myself."

"I don't understand," I cringed.

"Humans are no longer allowed into Turellia," the man explained. "But I decided to continue to operate my business anyway, delivering supplies to some of the more remote areas that the rescue squads can't reach. But… on my last trip… there was a fever outbreak in the area. I had to call in the Starfleet Squad with their medical personnel. They arrested me on the spot. I don't regret what I did. Those people would not have got any help otherwise. I just wish I'd realised what petty bastards Starfleet officers can be, and gotten out of there before they clapped me in the irons."

"Those regulations were made for your own safety," Janeway pointed out, "to prevent humans contracting the Turellian Fever. It's a debilitating disease for our species."

Elliot shrugged. "Are you saying Starfleet is trying to protect me, Admiral? I never asked for their protection. Why should I leave, just because Starfleet is in a panic about losing a few of their precious officers? I've been working on Turellia for years and I've never got sick. Maybe I'm immune."

"That's what we all thought initially – that humans were immune," Janeway explained. We were wrong."

"Look Admiral," he argued, "I've never put anyone in danger, except myself. Don't I have the right to risk my own life, if I choose?"

"So you're not a smuggler?" I interjected. "You… don't deal in any illegal goods?"

Elliot turned to me with a scowl. "I told you I didn't. What do you want? Proof?"

"I don't trust you," I said through gritted teeth.

Elliot laughed out loud. "Good for you Captain! I don't recommend it. Times I don't even trust myself."

I frowned. As well as irritation, I had been feeling a niggling sense of déjà vu since laying eyes on Elliot Lloyd. This man reminded me of someone I'd met before, but I couldn't place who it was. Janeway sent me a knowing look.

"What?" Elliot asked, catching our glance. "What?"

"Who does he remind me of?" I whispered to Janeway.

She grinned, assuming the question was rhetorical.

"His words, his manner, his arrogant attitude," I continued, "they all remind me of someone. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's as if we've met before. Elliot reminds me so much of…" It was doing my head in that I couldn't place this feeling.

"…Tom Paris," Janeway helped me out. "The old Tom Paris. I'm reminded of that man I first met as a prisoner at Auckland Penal Colony."

I was dumbfounded. "You're right Kathryn!" I practically laughed. "That's it. He reminds me of Tom Paris, the arrogant pilot I signed up to the Maquis! First time we met. That was such a long time ago. So much for first impressions. I hardly think of him as the same man."

"What the fuck do you know about Paris?" Elliot interrupted. I looked over to see his face suddenly turn pale.

"Elliot," Janeway spoke calmly. "Let us introduce ourselves properly. My name is Kathryn Janeway. This is Captain Chakotay. We served with Tom Paris on the USS Voyager. I'm also a good friend of Admiral Owen Paris, Tom's father."

"Admiral Paris? That's the admiral I spoke with the night that Tom… Oh shit! You don't think I had something to do with that?" He rose to him feet. "Is that why you thought I dealt in drugs? The doctors thought he must have overdosed. You think I was responsible? Is this an inquest? Into Tom's death? Look I had nothing to do with…okay, so I guess I wasn't always the best influence on him, I know his wife wanted me out of the picture… but I _was_ his friend. You have to believe me!"

"I believe you, Elliot," Janeway reassured. "Please sit down. This is not an inquest."

"It's not?"

"Of course not. Tom Paris isn't dead." I told him.

"What?"

"It wasn't an overdose at all. He had contracted Turellian Fever. It was one of the first human cases. He was very ill for a long time."

"I never heard from him again… I just assumed… maybe we weren't such good friends…" Elliot sank to his seat in shock.

"Don't think that," Janeway consoled Elliot. "I've heard him speak highly of you. But he's going through a tough time..."

"How is he now?" Elliot seemed genuinely concerned.

Janeway filled him in. "He was doing well but… I'm afraid he's just had a relapse."

"When?"

"Earlier tonight. He's being treated and his condition has stabilised, but his recovery… it will take some time. We still don't have a cure."

"Fuck." I watched Elliot as he took all this in. "But… but he's alive! I can't believe… I had no idea." I saw the alternating emotions cross his face now that his defensive mask had fallen away. Maybe if we had never been stranded in the Delta quadrant, if Tom had never had that opportunity to return to Starfleet, to redeem himself, he may have ended up more like this man, today. Maybe that was why they had become friends. Maybe Tom had seen himself in this man, as Kathryn and I did. And maybe he understood him better than we could.

"You came out here just to tell me this?" Elliot asked.

"My starship is docked here. I'm heading out in a couple of hours. Thought I'd come out early and interrogate you. Anything beats waiting around in a hospital," I shrugged and Elliot nodded in sympathy. "…Also Tom mentioned you."

"He did? What did he say?"

"He mentioned you helping him during an evacuation. And he wanted someone to contact you and fill you in. I promised I would - although I don't think he knew what he was saying at the time. He was delirious."

"But, let me guess, you're a man of your word?" Elliot grinned. Was he mocking me? I wasn't sure.

"I try to be." I was tight-lipped.

Elliot nodded respectfully. "It's a shame you have to leave, Captain. I have a lot of questions I'd like to ask."

"Likewise. How soon do you get out?"

Elliot shrugged. He sighed deeply, running his fingers through his hair. "I don't know… days, weeks… depends how soon I can organise bail. Then I'll have to figure out how to pay my way out to the Turellian Border, where my ship is being held and deal with all the god-awful red tape. Once I have my ship back I'll be right as rain."

I quickly considered the situation. There wasn't a lot of time to make my decision. I hit my comm. badge. "Captain Chakotay to Prison Security."

"On my way." The guard took only seconds to appear.

"Get this man his things," I instructed. "I'm bailing him out." I saw the look of surprise on Janeway's face.

The guard nodded and left.

"I'm heading out past the Turellian Border on my mission," I explained to Kathryn. "I can give Elliot passage on my ship, and drop him off on the way. It's easy enough. Afterall he _is_ Tom's friend."

The guard returned quickly, deactivating the forcefield to hand Elliot a pile of things – his clothes, boots, and a phaser. I walked to the computer console to key in my access codes.

I understood that Janeway was surprised by my decision, but it was Elliot who approached me to ask, "Are you sure you want to do this, Captain?"

"No, I'm not sure," I warned him. "So don't make me regret it."

"Yes, Sir." He mimicked a Starfleet officer's tone of respect.

This was going to be interesting, I thought as I keyed in my code and finalised the bail.


	13. The Tranquillity Departs

After bidding Kathryn a heartfelt farewell - in which she promised to keep me updated on how Tom was doing - I headed to the captain's ready room of the USS Tranquillity to organise our departure and to greet my crew as they checked on board. I was reading over a few changes to our schedule when the doors chimed. "Come in," I said automatically.

It was Elliot Lloyd who stepped through the doors. He was now dressed in his own clothes – boots, and a dark red-brown leather tunic. He was now clean-shaven, and, with his hair trimmed, looked a little more respectable, in a roguish way. However, he seemed ill at ease in the sterile environment of a galaxy-class Federation Starship.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"No," he assured me, then admitted, "Security took my phaser off me. I guess I feel a little underdressed without it."

"You'll get it back when you leave," I assured him. "You won't need weapons during your trip with us. Welcome aboard Mr Lloyd." We shook hands. "Let me show you to your quarters." I decided to take him personally. I could do with a break.

As we walked through the corridors, members of my crew stopped to greet me and fill me in on our preparations for departure.

"Any latest news on how Tom Paris is doing?" Elliot asked when we entered an empty stretch.

"Janeway received a call from Admiral Paris before she left. Tom is still at the research hospital. He'll spend another day or so there. When the doctor is happy with his readings, Owen will have him transported home where he'll be more comfortable."

Elliot nodded. "I'd really like to go visit him, once I sort out my affairs. See how he and B'Elanna are doing now."

I stopped in my tracks. "Elliot, you know B'Elanna's not with him. You're the one who told the Admiral that she left."

"Yeah, but surely when she found out he was sick…"

"She never found out. No one could find her, until I tracked her down last month."

"No one could find her? Where in the galaxy is she?" Elliot appeared innocent.

"You honestly have no idea?"

"Tom never told me."

"Dartesia IV."

"You're kidding me!"

"Of course I'm not. Why would I do that?"

"Because… of all the places she could have gone… … Shit, this means I've got some serious apologising to do."

"For what?"

Elliot laughed harshly. "For breaking up Tom's marriage!"

I didn't wait for an explanation. I was just thankful the corridor was empty, as I slammed Elliot against the wall. "You what?" I demanded angrily. But Elliot could hardly reply since I'd knocked the breath out of his lungs.

I heard footsteps approaching in the corridor behind me.

I let the man go and he leaned against the wall gasping for air, as I turned to face the officer in his newly-pressed lieutenant's uniform. No doubt he was wondering what his new Captain was doing assaulting passengers in the hallway. To my surprise I recognised him immediately.

"Harry Kim?" I gasped. "I didn't know you were to be part of my crew!"

"Last minute change," Harry informed me. "I'm replacing Edams, but only until we get to the Turellian Border. I'm doing him a favour. I'm meant to be on leave. But… I guess I can wait another week." I could see Harry looking past me, towards Elliot, curious about who he was and what was going on.

"Lieutenant Kim, I'd like you to meet Mr Elliot Lloyd. He'll also be with us only until we reach the Border – as a passenger. Elliot, this is…"

"Harry!" Elliot acknowledged, his voice slightly hoarse, still recovering from my surprise attack. "I've heard a lot about you from Tom. It's a pleasure to finally meet."

"Likewise." Harry grinned, shaking the older man's rough hand quite happily. "So what's going on?" he asked eagerly looking from me to Elliot.

I was irritated by how amicable Harry was acting towards this man. "I'm showing Mr Lloyd to his quarters," was all I said.

"The Captain and I were having a… private chat," Elliot added with a smirk.

"Well, I'm sorry to have interrupted that. I'll see you at the briefing in an hour, Captain." Despite his obvious curiosity, he made to leave. "I'll see you 'round, Elliot."

At that moment my comm. badge beeped. It was my second in command. I had to go.

"I'm sorry," I apologised to Elliot. "Duty calls. Maybe Mr Kim could show you to your quarters."

"Where abouts?" Harry asked turning back around eagerly.

"104, Deck 5."

"Sure thing! That's right near mine. I'm headed there anyway. Let's go."

I watched in frustration as the two men strolled away. "I'll meet you on the bridge," I told my first officer, but my thoughts were elsewhere. What did Elliot mean, he'd broken up Tom's marriage? Had I been right all along? Was this man up to no good? I'd get to the bottom of this up as soon as I could, but right now I had a captain's duties to attend to. I took a deep breath. I wondered how I was going to get through the coming week. I was defiantly going to be taking out my medicine bundle and my herbal teas when I finally got to my quarters.

After our pre-departure briefing, I stepped onto the bridge as my senior officers took their stations. I gave the order, and soon we were well on our way out of the solar system. I was itching to interrogate Elliot further, but I decided to wait until the shift was over before pursuing the issue. I entered our mess hall at 1800 hours for an overdue meal and loud laughter caught my attention. It was Elliot Lloyd and Harry Kim sitting by a window with several other crewmen. It appeared that Elliot was acting out a very entertaining story. As I watched, one of the ensigns laughed so much his orange juice came out his nose. But as I stepped up to the table and everyone fell silent, even the ensign holding a napkin to his face. Everyone, that is, except Elliot, who appeared to be wrestling with an invisible four-armed alien. "…and just when I thought I couldn't hold him back any longer…" Suddenly he became aware of my presence. "Captain," he reacted nonchalantly, showing none of the respectful discipline of my officers. "How are you?"

"I see you're making yourself at home."

"Yeah," he nodded. "You joining us?"

"Actually I was hoping to continue our _private conversation_ from earlier." That may have come out more sternly than I had hoped.

"Of course." Elliot got to his feet, facing me, looking me up and down. "I think that's a good idea," he countered. We eyed each other off. The other crewmen made their excuses and left politely until the only person left was Harry Kim. "Permission to speak, Captain,' he asked.

"Go ahead."

He leaned in. "Is this about Tom?"

I sighed. "Harry, you may as well stay." I wasn't sure how much he knew about Tom's situation, but since he had heard about Elliot, I figured he'd been in contact with him more than I had. I also wondered how much Elliot had told him so far. "Let's sit down."

Elliot eyed me cautiously. He knew I was on edge about his admission earlier. But we were in a public space so he hardly needed worry that I would lose my temper in front of my crew. After a moment's hesitation he sat down next to Harry Kim with a casual air.

I took a seat opposite him and took a moment to gather my thoughts.

Elliot spoke before I did. "I get that you're angry, Captain," he said in a low voice. "You're looking for someone to blame for your friend's misfortune. But sometimes… shit just happens."

"Just happens? That's not what you implied earlier…" I interrupted.

"I know what I said! I know what I did. But I acted out of friendship. Maybe Tom would have been better off if I had never interfered, but it was not my intention to... Look Captain, I swear I was only trying to help him! If you'll just hear things from my perspective."

"Fair enough. I'll hear you out. We all make mistakes." I took a deep breath. "So, would you care to explain to Harry and me exactly what you did to break up Tom and B'Elanna's marriage?"

"What?" Harry was surprised. I couldn't help feeling a bit smug about breaking Harry's naïve impression of this man.

"My pleasure," Elliot replied. "I'm more than happy to relate my side of the story. But before I get started, is there anywhere I can get a decent drink on this ship?"

I sighed. Somehow I doubted this voyage was going to live up to our ship's namesake. Then again, I wondered vaguely, who in their right mind had decided to name a starship Tranquillity in the first place? Someone with a twisted sense of humour, no doubt. "Alright Elliot, I'll buy you a drink. And then you'll talk. What'll it be?"


	14. Elliot's Story

It was Harry who suggested we reconvene to the holodeck. He had some of Tom's programs from our Voyager days on file that he thought Elliot might like to check out. This is how I found myself taking a seat in Sandrine's bar some ten years since Tom had created the program. It certainly brought back memories of our early days on Voyager. Tom and I had not exactly been friends then despite him having rescued me on the Ocampan homeworld. To tell the truth, I wished he wasn't on board and did all I could to ignore him. Tom and Harry, however, had formed a fast friendship right from the start, I remember clearly. Here we were now, a decade later, in a not dissimilar circumstance. I couldn't pretend to like Elliot and yet Harry seemed almost eager to befriend him. As much as Elliot Lloyd reminded me of Tom Paris, I wondered if he was equally deserving of my friendship or Harry's. We would find out sooner or later.

"Tom programmed all this?" Elliot glanced around the room.

"From memory," Harry confirmed. "A place he knew back on Earth."

"Impressive," Elliot raised his eyebrows – and then his glass. We watched as he downed the whole pint of beer, before setting the now empty glass back on the table. "Okay," he put his feet up on the chair opposite. "I'm ready to begin." Harry leaned in eager to hear the story. I was no less eager, but I tried not to show it. I wanted to discern everything I could from Elliot's body language to gauge whether he was telling the straight truth. He began:

"As you both know, Tom and I met when he was working in the 'Fleet's Rescue Squad, down in Turellia. You know, there's something about life or death situations - when you're forced to rely on the people around you - that really gets to the heart of things. And let me tell you there were plenty of those. You either want to forget it happened and hope you never meet again, or else you're friends for life. Know what I mean?"

Harry and I nodded. We understood because it had been that way on Voyager. We had become a family.

Elliot continued. "After Tom quit, we stayed in contact. Whenever I was passing through Jupiter Station I'd drop in. Tom and I would go out, get drunk, have some fun – or try to." He shook his head. "Tom just didn't seem himself since he quit the squad. I thought it was his wife. He told me how she was pushing him to get another 'fleet position even though Tom said he didn't feel ready. I offered him some work myself, thinking that we could go into business together, but he turned it down. He didn't give a reason. Again - I blamed his wife."

"Why?" I asked bluntly. "Why blame B'Elanna?"

Elliot's eyes darted to mine, sensing the unfriendly tone of my voice. He bought himself time by taking out a pack of cigarettes he must have swiped from the bar, and lighting up. "We didn't click, B'Elanna and I," he admitted, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. "You could say we got off to a bad start… and things only went downhill from there." He grinned wryly. "I guess I didn't compare favourably to Harry here, as her husband's best friend. She thought I was a bad influence." He shook his head ruefully then leaned in and began tapping ash into the ashtray in a very distracting fashion. Impulsively I reached for his cigarette, but he pulled away. "Hey! What's your problem? It's only holographic."

"It's annoying me."

"Do you wanna hear my story or not?"

"Just get on with it. Why didn't B'Elanna like you?"

"First time I met her, Tom and I had just got back to his apartment. We were both drunk, Tom more than me, since I'd been topping up his glass, trying to get him to spill the beans. His wife came to the door carrying Miral. You know Tom's daughter looks so much like him. Gorgeous little princess – blonde, blue-eyed and perfect, forehead ridges and all. Her face lit up when she saw him. Tom went to kiss his daughter but B'Elanna pulled away. She was furious. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. Tom had stood her up for dinner and she was not impressed to find him drunk. "It's my fault," I told her, trying to explain, as she tried to shut the door on me. "I'm Elliot," I introduced myself. "Tom hasn't mentioned me?"

She paused. "He talks about an Elliot who is loyal and brave." She shook her head. "But you are not that man."

"I'm not?"

"No. You're a loser and a drunk."

I laughed. "I don't deny it."

She wasn't amused. She straightened herself haughtily, looking me defiantly in the eyes. We were equal in height. "Also, I imagined Elliot would be taller than you."

In retrospect I should've let her have the last word, but I couldn't help myself. "Size isn't everything," I sneered provocatively. She let the door slide shut in my face. They say first impressions last and this one certainly has. I knew I'd blown it. There was no changing her mind after that. She'd decided I was a bad influence and she wanted me out of the picture."

"I wonder why?" I said flatly.

Harry was incredulous. "I can't believe you said that to B'Elanna! That's asking for trouble. You do realise she's half Klingon!"

"I can see I'm not getting either of you on my side," Elliot observed. He took his boots off the chair. "Look, I know I'm no great role model, but come on! She was overreacting. I'm not saying I was a _good_ influence. I'm saying I had _no_ influence!" Elliot defended. "He knows what my life is like enough not to envy me. Sure, I have my freedom (most of the time), but… he has a loyal wife and an angel of a daughter – he has a family! - or had." Elliot heaved a melancholy sigh. "The way he felt about them – I could never top that. Why would I want to try? I was his friend. I wanted the best for him. But I can't see into the future. I didn't know half of what was going on between Tom and his wife."

"Go on," I pressed him.

Elliot gestured for another beer, which aggravated me. It was not until it was in his hand that he leaned forward and resumed talking. "She came aboard my ship when I was doing some repair work…"

"B'Elanna?"

"Yeah, who else?" He said in an angry tone, his voice rising. "She came aboard uninvited, now that's asking for trouble! She was lucky I didn't throw her down the gangway. And then she had the nerve to demand that I stay the hell away from Tom! At that time I had hardly caught up with him in months. Mostly I was working, flying in and out of Turellia. But B'Elanna seemed to think all Tom did all day was hang out with me! Turns out he may have used me as an alibi for some missed job interviews, but I didn't know that then, and I was fed up with her attitude. "How are you going to stop me?" I laughed when she clenched her fists. She was always acting like _I_ was the animal, like _I_ was the uncivilised one. "Are you going to fight me?"

"I'll do whatever I have to," she swore. "I want you out of our life."

"You're _that_ sure I'm the problem?" I hated her bias against me. I wish I'd had the sense to realise there was more to it than that.

"Tom and I were doing just fine before you came along!"

"The way I see it, Tom was fine until he quit the squad to be with you," I retorted, walking toward her.

"Are you implying _I'm_ the one ruining his life? I _love_ him!"

"Like fuck you do!" I threw my tools across the floor. "That's why you choose his friends for him? That's why you're threatening me? You better watch it love, you're on _my_ turf here. My ship, my rules. And you know what I think missus? You're jealous of me!"

"That's insane!"

"Is it?" I grabbed her in an armlock and held her against the wall. She wasn't expecting that. Lucky I was quick, I wasn't expecting her to be so strong, but I managed to hold her. "Let me make something crystal clear to you darling. You don't want me around? You better do the leaving. Cos I sure as hell don't plan to tiptoe my way around the galaxy just so as not to tread on your pretty little toes." She struggled and I let her go with a shove.

"Fine. Just tell me the last place in the galaxy you'd go, and I swear that's where I'll move my family!"

"Careful what you swear to, love," I cautioned. "Dartesia's not exactly a family-friendly place." I was serious. My surprise at her strength had placated my anger somewhat and I felt a sudden well of admiration at her fiery nature, her determination to protect her family, and also for Tom for having caught such a fine woman.

She turned her back on me and left. That was the last time I saw B'Elanna."

We sat in silence as Harry and I took in Elliot's story.

"Is that where B'Elanna is?" Harry gaped. "Dartesia?"

I nodded.

"You're sure?"

"I went there. I saw her."

"Is she okay? Is Miral okay?"

I nodded. "It's all right. They're fine."

"Fucking hell!" Elliot exploded. "They're not fine! They're trapped there. Do you know how hard it is to get out of that place once you've accepted an assignment? You think I didn't have _reason_ to name Dartesia as the last place in the galaxy I'd go?"

"B'Elanna's contract finishes in a month," I reminded him. "And I sent her Tom's letter. She'll read it, finish up her contract and leave."

"That letter won't make it past the border," Elliot shook his head, "and her contract won't end until she finishes the job, until she rebuilds that transport station. Trouble is, Dartesian officials don't want that station completed. They employ the engineers, but it's all pretence. Security restrictions ensure that it's virtually impossible to import the necessary parts. She's stuck there until the political situation is resolved – God knows how long that'll be!"

I wondered if he was right. I knew I was being optimistic.

"How do you know all this?" Harry was impressed.

Elliot's face clouded over. "Well, that's another story. Don't want to get into it, frankly." The more he drank, the more I noticed a slight Irish inflection in his speech.

"How about you finish the one you started," I suggested. "So you saw Tom again at Jupiter Station?"

"Only once," Elliot continued reluctantly, speaking into his beer. "After that confrontation with B'Elanna, I headed back to Turellia for the rest of the month. When I docked at the station weeks later, I persuaded Tom to meet me at the bar." Elliot took a slightly shaky breath. "When I saw him he was a mess. I wish I could've got more out of him. All I could gather was that B'Elanna had left. They'd argued. He mentioned something about forgetting his daughter, and how this meant B'Elanna was right. I didn't quite follow. I asked if he should go after her. He said it was too late. He said he wanted to, but it was too late. It was all over now. I began to get really worried. We'd only had one beer, but he was becoming unintelligible. I tried to shake him out of it. "Tom, what's wrong with you? What is too late? What have you done?" I asked. "Fuck's sake, just tell me, what did you take?" I couldn't get anything more out of him. When he collapsed I yelled for an emergency transport."

"Poor Tom," Harry breathed.

Elliot paused and took another gulp of his beer. I noticed the liquid quivering in the glass as he raised it to his lips. "At the medical centre while the doctors tried to stabilise him, I called up Tom's dad, the Admiral. He interrogated me, but there wasn't much I could say. I said his wife had just left him and that I thought he'd taken something. Hardly ten minutes later Tom's dad had him transported from the station back to Earth and that was it. I returned to the bar and stayed drunk until my supplies were finally delivered and I left the station. I never heard from the Admiral, or from Tom, again." Elliot sighed. "So… I just assumed… there was nothing to hear, that he was gone. I mean nothing ever lasts. Things might come together for a while, but they always fall apart. Friends, enemies, lovers – they come and go. You always end up alone. That's just life, right?"

I nodded in understanding, feeling a sudden sympathy for Elliot Lloyd. Maybe he was right. There was no one to blame for Tom and B'Elanna's situation. Sometimes things just fall apart. Even so, I refused to believe that this meant they could not be put back together. Surely there was a way. My thoughts were interrupted as Elliot abruptly slid his chair back and got to his feet, downing the rest of his pint.

"You're leaving already?" Harry was surprised.

"If I don't, I'll be here all night. Wouldn't want to outstay my welcome." He gave an off hand salute and sauntered off the holodeck. I remained lost in thought, until Harry spoke.

"That man reminds me of someone," Harry told me.

"Tom Paris," I answered. Janeway and I had thought the same thing.

"No, that's not it," Harry disagreed. "He reminds me of… you, Chakotay."

I looked up, startled. Was he serious?

"…except for the drinking, of course…" Harry corrected, "…and the smoking, and the swearing. Did you ever do any of those things Chakotay?"

"Didn't we all?" I snorted.

"No," Harry Kim replied honestly.


	15. A letter from Janeway

I was extremely busy with my duties as Captain during that week, and I did not get much chance to find out how Elliot was getting on with the crew, although in hindsight, I did notice him spending a lot of time with Harry Kim. I suspected nothing beyond a casual friendship based on their mutual friend.

It was almost the end of the week and we were nearing the Turellian border before I even had time to view the letter I had received from Admiral Janeway. I made a cup of herbal tea and sat down in my ready room in front of my computer screen. Kathryn's familiar image flickered onto the screen and her voice filled the room as the message began playing.

"I trust all is well aboard your ship, Chakotay, and I trust you will find time to listen to this letter. As promised I'm calling to keep you informed on Tom's recovery. You'll be pleased to know that - for the most part - I have good news. Admiral Paris would disagree of course, but _I_ think the recent events have set Tom up for a good year ahead. A difficult year, I admit, but a rewarding one. Unlike his father, I have every confidence that he can meet the challenges ahead."

Intrigued and concerned, I leaned forward, my teacup forgotten, and waited for my former captain to tell her tale.

"Tom was well enough to leave the hospital a week ago. It was decided that it would be best that he move back to his parent's place for a while, with Samara acting as his nurse, now that her classes at Starfleet Academy have finished for the year. I am so glad that he trusts and respects Samara. She has a way with him that no one else seems have. There was some confusion at first, you remember, when in his fevered state he confused her with B'Elanna. In the end maybe this helped him to overcome his reserves toward her and allow himself to trust her fully. He has relied on her I good deal during his continuing recovery.

Despite his father's reservations, Tom has signed on to teach at the Academy next year – the Advanced Piloting course for which he has been designing simulations. The school is eager to have him onboard, so let's just hope he is well enough to cope with the workload in a few months time. I, for one, remain optimistic regarding his recovery despite the recent setbacks. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what happened yesterday when I visited…

I was about to press the intercom at Admiral Paris's apartment, when a familiar young cadet joined me on the doorstep. I'd met him several times at the hospital and knew he was one of Tom's students.

"Admiral Janeway," he greeted me with a casual salute, a wayward blonde curl falling in his eyes in a charming fashion. He was definitely charismatic, and with his distinctive Australian accent, I could imagine half the girls at the Academy must be in love with him – hell, I would have been. But I knew his also to be a sincere young man and a loyal friend to Tom.

"Flowers, that's thoughtful," I commented on the bouquet he carried a little self-consciously. I was assuming he had brought them as a 'get well' gesture for Tom. What else? "Cadet Gregory Bartlett, isn't it?"

"That's me, Admiral. Here and present. You here to visit Tom Paris?"

"I am," I nodded just as Tom's parents came to the door. They were on their way out but urged us both to go on upstairs and visit their son. Ever the young gentleman, the cadet stepped aside for me, and I ascended the stairs to Tom's room ahead of him.

As I stepped into the doorway of Tom's room I saw Samara by Tom's bedside where he was propped up with pillows viewing a PADD. The young nurse was holding her hand out for it.

"Oh come on Sam," Tom protested. "I want to get this program completed. Can't I just finish this line of code?" His voice sounded tired, not quite the Tom Paris I knew and loved, but improving every day.

"How long is a line of code?" Her back was toward me, so all I could see was her long neatly braided hair, but I could imagine the young Vulcan raising an eyebrow.

"How long is a piece of string?" Tom returned.

"My point exactly," she said firmly but gently. "You have worked for long enough today, Tom. You need to rest."

I smiled to myself. I'm so glad Tom trusts Samara. She has been good for him – constantly by his side. I don't know how the Paris's would have coped over this past week without her.

"Well, it wouldn't take me so long if it the Doc would just take me off these drugs." Tom held up his hand, displaying the medical wristband that was programmed to deliver a steady steam of drugs into his system. "I feel like a zombie. It's so hard to make my fingers do what I want, it takes twice as long to type the coding." The drugs Tom has been on since his relapse have the side-effect of decreasing his reaction time. He hates it. But he is only on the medication temporarily, until the fever subsides, to prevent the chronic pain and muscle weakness he suffered from for so long after his first bout. The doctor thinks this treatment will work very effectively – provided we can keep him on it for the required length of time.

"You'll be off those drugs in another week. Once you are well enough you can work for longer, but not before. Give me the PADD, Tom. You need to rest," Samara repeated.

Tom sighed, about to capitulate. "You know Sam, sometimes you're as bad as my father! How come I let you get away with it?"

"I know what's best for you."

"Or maybe you just have a prettier face."

Again I imagined Samara raising an eyebrow and I couldn't help laughing. Tom heard me. "Kathryn?"

"Hi Tom," I entered, leaning over the cushions to greet him with a hug and a kiss, before kicking off my shoes to settle myself on the bed. Tom grinned, but I could feel Samara's disapproving glance.

"I'm sorry Samara. Is this not a good time? I needn't stay long, if you're worried about your schedule being interrupted."

"Vulcan's do not worry," she assured me, still seeming a little put out. It amused Tom though, and that was my purpose in being here. He's liable to get down when he's confine indoors this way. I was here to cheer him up. It saddened me to see him unhappy and unwell. I've always gotten on well with Tom. In fact ever since we left Voyager I've been hoping Tom would come live close by, allowing our friendship to progress the way it never could aboard Voyager with me as his Captain. I feel that now I have what I want, I have Tom here, but at a terrible cost. Chakotay, Tom has not mentioned B'Elanna since his relapse, but I know his wife and daughter are never far from his mind. I know it must be terribly hard for him on top of everything else.

After settling myself on the bed next to Tom, I took the PADD out of his hand, thinking I could help by proof reading his work. "This looks technical," I noted, trying to decipher the coding.

"It is," Tom sighed. "I'm making a few changes to the piloting simulations. I want them to be as realistic as possible." Tom's always been such a perfectionist when it comes to holo-programming.

Samara cleared her throat. "Tom, if you give me that PADD, I'll agree to let you see your visitors for an hour. After that you need your massage and rest. Do we have a deal?"

"Visitors? Plural?" Tom asked, just as Greg stepped into the room. "Greg! I… didn't realise you were here." He pulled himself up and straightened the collar of his blue pyjamas. "I'd have got dressed, if I'd known you were coming too."

"No worries Tom," Greg drawled in his distinctive accent, stepping forward and patting Tom gently on the shoulder. "It's just me, no one special. Besides, I'm not actually here to see you. I came to see Sam," he grinned.

"Oh, really," Tom smiled in understanding as his student turned to Samara and held out the flowers.

She took them a little stiffly. "Thank you, I'm sure Tom appreciates them."

"Sam, they're not for him, they're for... Look, can we speak in private?"

"Tom might need something…"

"It's fine," Tom told her. "Kathryn's here. You two go talk."

"It is unnecessary." Samara disagreed, standing her ground.

"Sam I was hoping…" Greg almost whispered.

"…that I would have an answer to your proposal, Greg? Am I correct?"

"Proposal?" Tom spluttered. "Greg, you didn't! I've noticed the you two have been seeing each other but…"

"It's not what you think, Tom," Greg was mortified.

"My answer is yes," Sam announced, unabashed.

A huge smile spread across Greg's face. "Really? That's great!" If they had been alone I imagine he would have spun her around the room without hesitation, but he restrained himself. He stepped toward her and spoke passionately. "Now I don't care that you're leaving tomorrow, because I know we have this future to look forward to. I can't express how pleased I am, Sam."

"Leaving where? What future?" Tom demanded.

"It's none of your business Tom," Greg was agitated.

"I wanna know…"

"Why? Are you jealous?" I joked, trying to lighten the mood. Tom seemed unnecessarily upset about the situation. Whatever there was going on between his students was surely none of his business.

"Over Sam? Are you kidding me Kath? I just want to make sure Sam knows what she's doing, that she's got her priorities straight. Besides she's _my_ nurse so it is my business."

"Let me reassure you Tom, that I have made the right choice," Sam announced. "Greg asked me yesterday if I would promise to become his chief medical officer. I told him I needed to think about it – and now I have. I have agreed."

"Sam, you're not supposed to tell anyone!" Greg groaned with embarrassment.

"I'm confused. Chief medical officer? Why does Greg…"

"Greg is putting together his future crew for when he becomes a Starfleet captain," Sam explained.

Tom laughed in relief. "I actually thought you two were eloping for a second there. That would hardly be logical."

"Hardly," Sam agreed, aware that he was mocking her.

Tom laughed again. "Wow Greg, that's planning ahead. You haven't even graduated yet and you're already planning your captaincy?"

Greg blushed. "Thanks a lot, Sam. I'm going to go hide in a corner now."

"Hey Greg, it's okay. I didn't say there was anything wrong with that. It's just… god, I never planned ahead like that. When I was a cadet I was more concerned with, I dunno, my image, girls, flying of course, but I never planned… then again look at how my life turned out." Tom turned serious. "Good for you, Greg. You'll make a great captain one day, if that's what you want. But I'm concerned about what you said – Sam's leaving?"

So that was why Tom cared. I knew things had been a little tense at the Paris's especially since Tom was now well enough to talk back to his father. As well as acting as his nurse, Samara had provided a buffer between Tom and his parents. She has been the most important person in his life over this last week. Suddenly it became clear to me just how much he relied on her.

"She has to do a field placement remember? For her medical studies. Starts next week." Greg told him.

"Where's she going?"

"Turellia," Sam told him herself in a seemingly offhand manner. "I leave tomorrow."

Tom froze. "Say that again."

"Turellia. I leave to…"

"Are you out of your mind?" he interrupted.

"No, I…"

"Why the hell would you do this? It's too dangerous!"

"It is an essential part of my medical studies."

"But you could go anywhere for your placement! Why, of all places, would you chose to go to… to the place where I contracted this… I've told you what it was like there. Why?" Tom seemed angry at Samara but I knew he was afraid – of his memories, and of what Samara might see or experience there. His feelings for his student turned nurse run deep.

"Because of you, Tom," Sam explained. "You are the reason I want to go to Turellia. I want to experience the situation for myself. You have no reason to fear for my safety. Vulcans are immune to the fever."

Tom scoffed. "That's what they said about humans two years ago."

"I want to help." Sam replied simply. "They need me."

Tom was quiet a moment as he took this in. He knows better than anyone the reality of the situation in Turellia. They needed as many qualified workers as they can get. But Tom still pleaded: "I need you here, Sam."

"You are recovering just fine," the Vulcan student pointed out. It was true. It was unnecessary for her to be constantly by his side the way she had been recently. But Tom had become reliant on her.

"I'll miss you." He took her hand, looking deep into her eyes.

"I know." Sam spoke in a whisper, turning away. "That's why I should go."

Greg changed the topic. "So, exams are all finished for the year. How was your exam, Tom?"

"My exam?" Tom turned to his other student with a puzzled expression.

"I thought you had to re-sit a flight exam since you're going to be teaching next year."

"I do, but I haven't sat it yet. They haven't contacted me about it."

"Really? But today's the last day of the exam period."

Tom looked blank for a moment as the information sunk in. "Shit," he swore. "Hand me the computer."

Samara handed it to him.

"Tom?" I asked.

"My father was checking my mail last week while I was sick. He never wanted me to apply for the teaching job in the first place."

"You think he forgot to tell you?"

"Forgot. Yeah, that must be it," Tom said wryly, "Here's the letter in the trash. My exam was meant to be yesterday. I'm calling the dean of the flight school."

Sam, Greg and I all shared a startled look, as Tom searched the directory on his computer.

"Hi Jeffery, It's Tom Paris here." Tom was on the phone, sounding very business-like as he tried to keep his anger in check. "I'm good, well better, I'm doing better. Look about my exam, my father… is that what he said? Look I'm sorry I wasn't aware of that. I'm apologise for the confusion. Is there any chance I can still sit the exam? I realise I can't teach unless I do… yeah, I understand… I'm sorry too. I was really looking forward to teaching next year… would that be possible?… There's no other way? Are you sure? Okay, I can do that. I'll see you soon." Tom ended the call.

"Well?" we all asked.

"All results have to be in by 1700 today. No bending the rules."

"I'm sorry Tom." I comforted, placing my hand on his shoulder. I knew he must be disappointed.

"It's okay," he assured me, quickly. "I'll get over it. Maybe my dad was right this time. Maybe it's for the best."

"Maybe," I was confused. Tom didn't appear upset the way I had expected. Before I could decipher his attitude he spoke again.

"Those flowers should be put in water, Sam. Kath you know your way around the kitchen. I'm sure there's a vase somewhere. Could you help Sam find something?"

"Certainly, let's go Samara," I agreed, thinking he wanted some time to himself. The Vulcan picked up the bunch of roses and followed me Paris's gorgeous old-style kitchen. Together we searched the cupboards, me in a haphazard fashion, trying to guess where Mrs Paris would most likely keep a vase, Sam systematically from left to right. We met in the middle, finally finding a lovely ceramic vase in a cupboard above the oven. Sam carried the vase of flowers carefully back to Tom room and I followed. Suddenly I heard a crash. Sam had dropped the vase scattering roses and broken crockery across the doorway of Tom's room. I followed her gaze.

I saw Tom dressed in his blue-grey tutor's uniform, easing himself into his wheelchair, adjusting his legs, while Greg stood behind him, letting off the brakes.

"Going somewhere?" I asked."

At this point I was called to my bridge and had to discontinue listening to Kathryn Janeway's tale. The USS Tranquility had arrived at the Turellian border.


	16. The Aurora's Mission

We docked the Tranquility at Turellia District Space-Station. Due to new regulations, enforced heavily since the spread of the deadly turellian fever, no crewmembers were allowed off ship without permission. That included Mr Elliot Lloyd. I was meeting him on the bridge before hailing the Station Commander to explain the circumstances. To my surprise, Harry exited the turbolift along with Elliot. They were dressed in a similar fashion - dark pants and leather jackets. Elliot had had his weapons returned to him and a phaser was visible at his belt. I greeted him with a curt nod.

"Harry what are you doing here?" I asked.

"Captain, I'd like to also request permission to go about the Station," he told me.

I was surprised. I knew that Harry Kim was now officially on leave, but why was he choosing to part ways here? He surely had no business in Turellian space. "On what grounds?" I asked perplexed.

"I'm going with Elliot."

"What do you mean? I thought you were going back to Earth to visit Tom."

"This is more important," Mr Kim glanced at Elliot.

I followed his gaze. Elliot Lloyd stood nonchalantly, one hand resting on the butt of his phaser. Just one week since his haircut and it was already beginning to look untidy. The sandy stubble across his jaw line added to his roguish appearance. "You've known this man for one week Harry. How can anything be more important that seeing your best friend at a time like this?" I admit that at this point I doubted Harry's judgement as well as my own. I wished I had never bailed Elliot out or let him aboard my ship to become acquainted with Harry Kim. "Where's Elliot taking you?"

"We're picking up his ship and then…" Harry paused and looked to his new found friend.

At this point Elliot stepped forward. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Captain."

"No?" I felt indignant. "I bailed you out remember? You better be there for your court date, that's all I care about."

Elliot held up his hands. "If I'm not there I'm dead Captain, I swear."

"Are you sure about this Harry?"

"I'm sure." He was resolute.

I sighed. "Hail the station commander!" I ordered my opps officer abruptly.

A native Turellian appeared on the screen and greeted us. "Welcome to Turellian space. I wish we could be more accommodating hosts, but times are uncertain here. Is there anything I can do to help you Captain?"

"Greetings Commander. I wish to ask permission for two humans aboard my ship, to enter the station."

"Please state their business aboard the station."

I took a deep breath. "They wish simply to transfer to another ship which is docked here. From there, they will leave Turellian space." I glanced at Harry and Elliot to confirm this. They nodded.

"Name of ship?"

Elliot stepped toward the view screen and spoke for himself. "Name of Aurora, Commander Barra. The Galactic Aurora."

"But the Aurora belongs to…" The commander's already bulbous blue eyes bulged further. "Elliot Lloyd?"

Elliot simply grinned as I glanced at him. Why had he not told me he knew the commander?

"Elliot Lloyd I am honoured to have you here! I had not the opportunity to thank you in person after you saved my family…"

"Don't worry about it," Elliot assured him, brushing off the commander's gratitude with a wave of his hand as though if were an annoying fly.

But the commander continued. "I will never forget that you risked your life and freedom, when no one else would go to the Eastern villages. I was so angry to hear about your subsequent arrest! I wish I could have intervened but…"

"I broke the law," Elliot reminded him stiffly. I sensed anger and resentment beneath his forced casual demeanour. "I was guilty as charged."

"You are a good man Elliot Lloyd," the Commander insisted solemnly, "and it will be my honour to personally escort you and your colleague to your ship. When do you desire to leave?"

"As soon as possible," Elliot admitted with a shrug. "No point hanging around this joint."

The commander nodded. "I shall obtain the necessary passes and meet you at 1900. You'll be on your way in no time."

"Great," Elliot grinned, but as the commander's image faded from the view screen the smile fell from his face. Maybe it was the fluorescent lighting of the bridge, but he looked almost pale beneath his rugged complexion and he swallowed as though he had a bug in his throat. For a moment I imagined I saw fear in his eyes, but then he recovered himself. "Thanks Captain." He told me. "Are you ready Harry?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry Kim replied.

"That's the attitude!" Elliot grinned again. He turned to me and held out his hand. "Goodbye Captain Chakotay. I appreciate everything you've done for me." He shook my hand warmly. "I know you don't trust me Captain. And I'm sorry I can't reassure you on that front. I need to take care of some unfinished business here. Harry's agreed to help me out and I understand you're worried about him. I'll look after him, Captain. I promise." His eyes were sincere.

"Good luck," I said simply, as they exited the bridge.


	17. I am cast adrift

I returned to my ready room feeling ambivalent. Should I have let Harry Kim leave with Elliot Lloyd? He knew the man less than I did and I was a long way from trusting him or calling him a friend. Maybe I should have insisted he tell me where they were going and why. Why would Harry choose to go with Elliot rather than back to Earth to see Tom as planned? I couldn't fathom it. But it was out of my hands now they had left my ship. So I tried to put it out of my mind. And despite my personal desire to find out how Tom was doing back on Earth, I also tried as hard as I could to put Janeway's letter out of my mind. As Captain I needed to prepare myself for the mission ahead. Since becoming a captain I had enjoyed these diplomacy situations I was involved in. I really felt I was doing good work and having an impact, but somehow, this time around, my mind was elsewhere, and my heart… it wasn't really in this mission. I had to force myself to concentrate. So it was a welcome distraction when my computer alerted me of an incoming call from Starfleet command. I wondered what it could be.

A lieutenant appeared on my computer screen. "Captain Chakotay, I am pleased to notify you that Starfleet Command has granted your request. The replacement Captain for the USS Tranquility is currently on her way to your location. Captain Bhandal should arrive within the hour. No need to brief her on the mission. She has all the necessary information and…"

"What the hell is this about?" I interrupted in shock.

"Your… your request for leave Captain," the Lieutenant stammered. "It was very late notice, but we managed to arrange things."

"I don't want to take leave!"

"I'm sorry Captain. It was hard enough to organise this. You can't change your mind again."

"You misunderstand me. I never changed me mind! I never requested leave!"

"Well I… I'm sorry Captain Chakotay. Captain Bhandal will arrive any minute now and you are to leave the ship in her capable hands."

"I have to leave my ship? This is outrageous! There must be some kind of a mistake."

"No mistake, Captain. The Admiral gave very specific orders. You must clear out your quarters and ready room immediately."

"Fine." There was no point arguing, but I was livid inside. "Anything else Lieutenant?"

"That is all Captain. Enjoy your leave."

"I'll try."

After this news I did something I rarely do. I walked to the replicator and ordered a drink. "Scotch whiskey. On ice."

"Synthanol or alcohol?"

"Alcohol!" I blurted impatiently. "What use would synthanol be to me at a time like this?" I felt like Tom Paris, getting angry at a replicator machine like this. I had thought my days of being undermined by authority were over once I'd become a Starfleet Captain. I grabbed my drink and downed it quickly, ordering another as I surveyed my ready room. So I had to clear out immediately? It was a good thing I wasn't much into decorating, I though grimly.

Half an hour later I was back in the ready room after clearing out my quarters. I had hanged into casual clothes – a charcoal vest and pants, and brown leather boots. My essential belongings I had crammed into a small carry-bag. I paced back and forth as I awaited the arrival of my replacement.

Captain Bhandal was punctual. She strode through the door confidently and introduced herself. She was a tall handsome woman of Indian heritage with large penetrative green eyes, her abundant dark hair restrained in a functional bun. I sensed in her a headstrong nature. I imagined she would get along like wildfire with Kathryn. I'd have been more friendly toward her myself under different circumstances. As it was I was in no mood to socialise.

"Pleased to meet you, Captain. I was told you'd been briefed on the mission. I'll leave you to acquaint yourself with your ship and crew," I tried not to sound as bitter as I felt. And I hoped she did not smell the whiskey on my breath. I nodded curtly, picked up my bag and was about to walk out the door.

"Before you leave Captain, I have a message for you from the Admiral."

I stopped in my tracks. "A message from the Admiral?"

"Yes. The Admiral was my commissioning officer. She asked me personally to take this mission from you. Her message is simply this: I trust you will make the right choices. Good luck and bon voyage, Kathryn."

"Janeway commissioned you?" I exclaimed. Suddenly I needed another drink. As I'd been furiously packing my things I'd been cursing the bumbling incompetence of Starfleet Admirals and Starfleet administration in general – but no, this was no mistake. This was Kathryn Janeway. What was she playing at?

"The Admiral must think a great deal of you. It certainly is unusual to be granted leave at such short notice. So, what are your plans, if you don't mind my asking Captain?"

"I do," I said abruptly. "I do mind." I had no idea what I was going to do.

"Won't you sit down, Captain? You seem a little shocked."

"No, I'm fine," I assured her. "But I must leave immediately. Good day Captain Bhandal. The Tranquillity is yours."

And so I left my ship a free agent. No orders. No comm. badge. No idea where life was taking me. I hadn't felt like this in years and a part of me welcomed that sense of independence. I was my own man. Or was I? What did Janeway expect of me? What was I supposed to do now? Alone and adrift, I wandered through the alien space station and tried to gather my thoughts.


	18. The Pilot's Exam

It did not occur to me until Harry, Elliot and I were halfway to Dartesia, that Janeway had orchestrated everything. Of course she had. After I impulsively bailed Elliot out of Jupiter Station Prison, she must have contacted Harry. It was she who sowed the seeds for our rescue mission. I now remembered her speaking quietly with Elliot before we left. I wonder what kind of ideas she put in his head? And of course she had arranged my leave – without my permission. And I had thought my days of playing pawn to Janeway's queen had ended with Voyager! I just hoped our plan would work.

In the anxious days we spent speeding towards the Dartesian system, I had time to read the rest of Janeway's letter and my suspicions were confirmed. Here it what she said, from where I had left off:

"For a moment no one in the room moved. Tom's pale face wore a sheepish expression. He'd been caught out. It was obvious that he'd sent Samara and myself to the kitchen as a distraction so that he could sneak out with Gregory's help – the student whose idea it had been for Tom to teach in the first place. "Damn it Tom, we've been caught," the cadet quipped.

His casual attitude concerned me. "Was this little scheme your idea Gregory Bartlett?" I asked sternly.

"It was mine, Kathryn," Tom spoke up. Although tired, his voice was determined.

"Samara, Gregory, please leave the room," I commanded. "I wish to speak to Tom Paris alone." I kept my voice level but there was no denying my anger.

Reluctantly the two students slunk into the kitchen, Greg having to step carefully around Tom's wheelchair past the broken vase of flowers that had so conveniently prevented him from leaving. I wondered if Samara had merely feigned surprise in dropping them. I wouldn't put it past her.

Once his students had gone, I turned my gaze to Tom Paris. "Tom, how could you even begin to think…" I began, but he interrupted me.

"Please Kathryn, you have to listen to me!" He was pallid and clearly not in good shape, but more determined than I have ever seen him, and that's saying something.

"Go ahead," I nodded, a little thrown by the desperation in his pale eyes.

"I _have_ to do this, Kathryn. I have to _try_. My life is worth nothing without this," he swore, hand on heart.

"Tom, don't…"

"I mean it! I have nothing else left! But if I can still fly, then I have hope. It's the one thing I know I can do well."

"Tom…"

"This… disease. Look at me. Look at what I'm reduced to. I can't walk. I can't go anywhere on my own. I need help to go to the bathroom for fuck's sake! But… when I'm flying, it doesn't matter. That's the _one_ thing I haven't lost. Yet. I _can't_ lose my license Kathryn. I'd rather lose my life."

"Please don't say that Tom. You're not considering the long-term…"

"Maybe I don't have a long-term. Have you considered that? If I don't have something worthwhile in my life right now, I just don't think I can keep going. I need this. With or with out your help Kathryn Janeway, I'm sitting this pilot's exam if it kills me." With obvious effort he moved his wheelchair toward the door. I stopped him easily, leaning my hands on either side of his chair, an action that brought my face in line with his. I had no doubt he meant everything he said, but without help he was not going to get very far. I spoke sternly only because he seemed to expect it of me. "Not so fast, Tom. I have listened to you. Now it's your turn to let me finish what I have to say, Mister. How could you even begin to think that I would not support you? How could you go behind my back like this? I'm not your father, Tom. You and I, we are friends who support each other, are we not? I am disappointed in your lack of trust in my judgement." I waited for my words to sink in.

A hesitant smile curled the corners of Tom's lips. "Kathryn? Are you saying you'll help me?"

"You don't have much time. I'll use my Admiral's clearance. We'll take your father's shortcut straight through Starfleet headquarters. Let's go. Your students may as well join us. Sam? Greg? Let's get to the holodecks!" I called grabbing Tom's chair.

When we got there, the Dean of the flight school was waiting.

"Your cutting it a little fine, but I'm more than happy you're here. I was starting to worry about finding a replacement teacher." The Dean glanced at Tom Paris with concern. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I can do it." Tom nodded. "All I have to do is pass right? I don't have to ace the damn thing to keep my teacher's licence."

"Then let's get you started. There's not much time, though. You'll have to fly through it."

Tom chuckled as I wheeled him onto the simulated bridge of our newest fleet of Starships. "No problem." Tom seated himself in the pilot's chair and ran his hands over the new super-responsive console touch screen. He frowned.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"It's these drugs the Doc's got me on." He held up his wrist to show the medical band. "They're interfering with my responses."

"Is that going to be a problem?" the Dean asked in alarm.

"Not for long," Tom resolved. "Sam, get over here."

The Vulcan student was at his side in an instant. Tom held out his wrist to her. "Sam I need you to disable this device. I can't fly properly with these drugs in my system."

"That is not wise. Your recovery depends on…"

"Sam, do it!" Tom snapped. "That's an order!"

The girl simply raised an eyebrow.

"Kathryn?" Tom appealed to me. I made a snap decision. I nodded to Sam. Obediently she reached out and took Tom's wrist, tapping her medical access code into the device. "It is done," she announced.

"Is that better?" the Dean asked impatiently, as Tom flexed his fingers and ran them across the console. "Give me a minute."

Sam cleared her throat and spewed out some medical jargon. "These drugs are deactivated within the body extremely rapidly, which is why they require constant administration. The level of these drugs in Tom's bloodstream will fall to zero within 5 minutes." Her glance let me know that she also understood the possible severity of what we had just done.

Tom appeared not to heed her warning. "Excellent. That means I'll be able to ace the exam after all!" he reassured the Dean.

"All set then?" the Dean asked.

"Yes, Sir," Tom replied, more enthusiastic than I'll seen him in a long time. He clearly felt more at home at the helm of a Starship than anywhere else. This helped me to feel I'd made the right decision by allowing him sit this test. What did not help was the way Samara's eagle eyes watched Tom's every movement from under her dark fringe. What was she anticipating?

We retreated to the hallway to wait for Tom to finish the gruelling 3-hour exam. "Can we watch?" Samara asked suddenly. Greg agreed, keen to watch Tom's flying skills in action. But I knew that was not Samara's reason for asking.

"May we?" I asked the Dean. "It can't do any harm. Everyone else has completed the exam."

It's good to be an admiral. Dean relented to bend the rules, and we brought up a view of the holodeck on the screen in front of us. We could clearly see Tom sitting at the helm concentrating all his skill on the test flight. We watched as he flew through the test, and we cheered him on. He was amazing to watch. It made me happy to see him in action, doing what he does best. His students were blown away and I could see the Dean was also more than a little impressed. The Academy had always had trouble finding inspirational pilots to teach the cadets. I could see he was proudly looking forward to having Tom Paris on his staff.

At the end of the exam simulation, Tom's test results were automatically displayed on screen: he had aced the test with a 97% possible rating. We all cheered. Samara entered the holodeck before anyone else, hastening to Tom's side. I followed her quickly, sensing her concern, but when I got to the helm, Tom was laughing. "How was that, huh? I haven't enjoyed myself so much in a long time. I should take exams more often!"

Samara's hand flew to Tom's wrist to check his readings, but he grabbed her small hands before she could. "Sam, you worry to much. I'm fine! Besides, I'll go straight to the med centre okay? The Doc will check everything thoroughly, you know that."

Greg high-fived Tom and the dean congratulated his newest faculty member. I smiled, feeling satisfied that things had worked out so well.

"No more exams. Time to celebrate! Will you join us Tom?" Greg asked enthusiastically.

"I'm going to see the Doc, but I might catch you guys later," Tom sounded a little tired but he was still smiling. "Go!" he told Sam, who was hesitating. "Have fun!"

The students and the Dean all left. As soon as the door slid shut behind them Tom winced in pain, grabbing his legs.

"Tom!" I rushed to him. "I didn't realise the pain could return so suddenly!"

"It didn't," he admitted. "Started half-way through the exam – when the drugs left my system. I just didn't want anyone to know – particularly Sam! Fuck!"

I could see he was in a lot of pain. "Let me call the hospital," I suggested.

"No, I'll call the Doc." Tom took a deep breath and gained control of himself again. "Holodeck to Med-Research. Are you there, Doc? It's me."

"Mr Paris?" the EMH's voice came though. "Why are you on the holodeck? You should be at home."

"It's not important. What is important is that you upload your program to the holodeck now!" Tom winced in pain again and the Doctor hurried to do as he said. "I'll be there in 30 seconds Tom. Is there anyone else with you?"

"This is Janeway. I'm with him Doctor." The Doctor's silence told me he was not exactly thrilled to hear my voice. "Is there any way I can help?" I prompted.

There was another pause before the EMH replied coldly. "I'm guessing you've helped enough Admiral."

So there you have it Chakotay. Tom has his pilot's license back, but at a cost. He's on constant pain meds now. The EMH was far from pleased with what I'd done – I accept full responsibility. And I don't regret helping Tom get his pilot's license back. He's been in higher spirits lately than I've seen him in a long time – most of the time. I just wish I could see him more often. It will be hard for him, living with his parents again, especially since Owen is not exactly supportive of Tom's teaching aspirations, and especially without Samara around.

That's another thing I should tell you. Samara has just left for Turellia. If you happen to see her, please don't say anything about Tom's medical complications. She would never have left if she had known. At first I was in favour of telling her, and having her stay with Tom. But Tom has changed his mind on that front. He pointed out to me that he senses she's becoming a little too attached to him. In was what he was wary of from the beginning. So despite the fact that he needs her, he has let her leave. He puts on a good front, and neither of us has mentioned her, but we both know who it is he really needs. He needs is his wife. He needs B'Elanna. He needs his family. I know you agree with me Chakotay. In this regard it is now up to you. Harry will meet you as soon as he can and Elliot will be an asset too. I'm sure between the three of you - Tom's most loyal friends – you can achieve the seemingly impossible. I believe I leave this mission in the best hands. So here it is: Whatever it takes, bring B'Elanna and Miral back to Earth.


	19. Rescue Mission

It was a dangerous mission. I can still hardly believe we pulled it off. But we did, we succeeded: we rescued B'Elanna and Miral from the war-torn planet Dartesia III.

Elliot liked to play up the damsels in distress analogy (although I would not exactly describe B'Elanna or Miral as helpless princesses!). I guess this puts Elliot, Mr Kim and myself in the roles of the three courageous heroes. Yet I don't feel like a hero. In storybooks the rescued princesses are grateful to their champions. And the other thing: heroes don't leave their friends behind. Not all of us made it off that desolate god-forsaken planet that fateful day…

When I think back to that crazy mission, three images flash through my mind as though they have been burned onto my retinas forever.

The first is the Dartesian landscape: a dry, windblown desert. The harshness, Harry told me, reminded him of the Ocampan homeworld where we rescued him and B'Elanna almost ten years ago. Immediately the atmosphere instilled in me a sense of desperation as we landed Elliot's small ship. (That feeling may also have had something to do with the fact that the whole Dartesian army would shortly appear on the horizon. Despite Elliot's skill and my knowledge of the Dartesian security systems it had been impossible to completely avoid detection as we entered the planetary system. Elliot had insisted that Harry and I remained hidden in the Aurora's cloaked cargo hold, while he had flown like lightning past the sentinels.)

The second image I remember clear as day is that innocent pair of bright blue eyes, so like their father's it was strange to see them in the face of that wild child. Elliot caught her by the shoulder before she could make her escape with the rest of the rag tag bunch of local children who had pelted us with stones as we emerged from the Aurora – children playing at a war of which they had only too much real experience here in Dartesia. "Ouch! I didn't know angels could bite!" Elliot almost swore, trying to restrain the child.

"But Klingons do," I pointed out.

"Elli!" she squealed excitedly, recognising him suddenly and bestowing a generous hug. I was surprised Miral remembered Elliot so fondly.

If she was an angel, as Elliot liked to think, she was a fallen angel. Miral was dressed in ragged clothes, her skin bronzed from the harsh sun, her blonde curls matted with the all-pervasive dust. And she was tall. I hardly recognised her. Klingons grow up fast, especially in harsh conditions.

"Play a game with me Elli?" Miral asked.

"Sure thing. It's a rescue game," Elliot explained quickly. "We're going to rescue your mother. Point us in the right direction, angel?" Elliot asked. Miral pointed her small grubby hand at the tall command tower rising formidably from the arid expanse.

The third image I will never forget is the silhouette of B'Elanna Torres herself, standing warrior-like, on the battlements of the command tower as if surveying the scene of a battle. She was dark in shadow against the orange sky, but something glinted brightly. It was a laser-knife. She was deftly turning it over and over in her hand, restlessly as if weighing up some issue in her mind. It sent a shiver down my spine.

"B'Elanna!" I called out to her.

"You should've never returned!" she called down to us menacingly, her hand tightening on her weapon. At the time I thought she was speaking to me, but on reflection I realise it was Elliot.

"Put the knife down Torres!" I yelled back, unnerved. "There'll be no need for violence!"

"I don't know about that!" she replied, laughing harshly. "Do you suppose that ship of yours avoided detection? The whole Dartesian army will be after you!"

"Oh, I'm counting on it." Elliot replied. "You wanna come down from your tower princess?"

"Three days ago," B'Elanna explained, "I tried to leave the base. I've been trapped here ever since."

"You need some rescuing Rapunzel? Time to let down your hair!" Elliot joked.

An unorthodox fairy princess B'Elanna made with her Klingon features, her tight leather clothing, knife in hand. Her hair however, was long enough for any fairy tale. It rippled in the breeze, reaching all the way to her hips when the wind died down. "Elliot you're the last person _alive_ I'd have rescue me!" she snarled.

"So you want me dead, I'm used to that," he shrugged. "But unless you want your friends Harry and Chakotay to suffer the same fate, you're gonna have to let us rescue you." he retorted smugly.

She gave Elliot the finger for his efforts. "Just throw me the rope, Elliot."

Elliot wasted no more time. He fired the climbing equipment up to her and B'Elanna caught the tackle with one hand. She secured the rope and shimmied down to us in a few minutes. Her toned and agile body impressed me. It must be those Klingon genes of physical endurance. She jumped nimbly to the ground and embraced Miral, lifting her off her feet. "Thank god you're okay, sweetie. Have you been a good girl?"

Miral nodded enthusiastically. "Playing war games with my friends!"

"That's nice," B'Elanna said absentmindedly, turning to Elliot. "Tell me you have a plan." She knew better than the rest of us that time was not on our hands right now. I did not ask any questions, but looking into her eyes I suspected she had been crying. Had she received Tom's letter? Is that why she had attempted escape? What plans would she have made with that knife, if we had not arrived when we did? There was no time to ask such questions.

Elliot filled B'Elanna in on our plan. Concealed inside Elliot's cloaked cargo hold, we had brought with us all the equipment I knew B'Elanna would need to get the transporter base operational, purchased using Harry's credit and my authorization as a Starfleet captain. The plan relied on the power banks containing enough energy to beam us all the way to the closest Starfleet outpost – beyond Dartesian space. While B'Elanna and Harry worked to install the systems, Elliot and I would set up forcefields around the base. I just hoped the forcefields would hold back the Dartesian army for long enough…

We unloaded the cargo from the Aurora as quickly as possible. Even Miral helped. Before long we had everything inside the base. B'Elanna and Harry worked together on the technicalities of the transporter set up. It seemed an impossible task, but having worked closely together on Voyager in many a tough situation, made Harry and B'Elanna a perfect engineering team. While they worked, Elliot and I rigged up the forcefield.

We had been working for hardly ten minutes when the first war shuttles appeared on the horizon. Elliot dropped his tools and stood up. "How much longer will it take you?" he asked Torres.

"Half an hour if we're lucky," B'Elanna told him, not stopping her work.

"Will you have enough power?"

"I've rerouted all systems," Harry said. "If we use a high density beam that should give us… enough power to transport four people."

"It's enough," Elliot said.

"But there's five of us, including Miral!" I pointed out unheeded.

"I'll buy you as much time as I can," Elliot promised.

"Thank you," B'Elanna was surprisingly sincere.

Elliot shrugged. "Buy Tom a beer for me," he told her, then with a casual salute to us all he walked to the console near the exit. Through the wide windows we could see Elliot's faithful Aurora docked just outside the base. In the distance the war ships were approaching. Elliot keyed in the access code and stepped through the forcefield as it shimmered away for a moment before reforming.

"Elliot! What are you doing? You'll be seen!" I cried out. But he continued striding away from us, up the gangway of the Aurora. I ran to the console to deactivate the forcefield and go after him. "Shit! He changed the code on me! I _knew_ I didn't trust that scoundrel." In anger I threw a fist at the forcefield. "Fuck!" I breathed heavily as the pain hit me. It was double re-enforced. I had made sure of that. I saw Elliot disappear inside his ship and the gang way closed behind him. "B'Elanna! We're trapped in here! If we can't get the transporter working, we're sitting ducks!"

"So we'll get it working," she said grimly, grabbing the last array component. "Here, install this," she told Harry.

"Sure thing?" Harry Kim nodded, no questions asked.

"What if Elliot rats us out?" I asked angrily.

"Rat us out? He's buying us time, Chakotay. He's going to divert the war ships from us. That's the plan." B'Elanna wass upset but I was too angry to notice immediately.

"Plan? What are you talking about? Did Elliot tell you he going to walk out on us like this?" I grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop working, to pay attention to what I was saying. I still did not fully understand.

"He didn't have to say anything. I knew as soon as I saw that ship of his. It might not be _your_ plan Chakotay, but it's the only way _any_ of us are making it out of here alive!"

"How's Elliot going to make it out alive?" I demanded.

B'Elanna's silence spoke clearly. I understood at last. He was not going to be leaving with the rest of us.

"This is not a plan I would have agreed to!" I raged.

"That's why he didn't tell you!" B'Elanna cried. "Look, I didn't _ask_ Elliot to make this sacrifice. He should never have come here and neither should you! But what's done is done. It's our only way out now!"

Together we watched as the Aurora rose into the sky, retro-thrusters blazing. "Do you see?" B'Elanna spoke. "Elliot's ship is a modified Dartesian war craft," I noticed for the first time how similar the ship's design was to the other Dartesian craft. "He used it when he made his dramatic escape all those years ago. I've heard the tales. So has Miral. Here in Dartesia Elliot Lloyd is a folk hero for the common people. But to the authorities he's a wanted man."

"What did he do?" Harry asked.

"He was a weapon's dealer during the war - until he tried to back out of a massive contact to the Dartesian Allied Forces. I guess he got in too deep. Everyone was after him. Somehow, despite the price on his head, he managed to get away. He swore never to return. And yet here he is."

We watched the scene unfold. As the Aurora ascended, the Dartesian ships turned sharply and spiralled towards it, weapons ready. The Aurora swung around deftly and shot out across the dessert, spinning madly to evade attack, and every last Dartesian ship followed firing round after round. The sounds echoed past us, growing more distant as Elliot drew the attack away. There was no way he was escaping this time.

"Is Elli going to be okay Mommy?" Miral asked, her eyes glowing mostly with excitement but also a hint of fear.

"Of course he is sweetheart." B'Elanna reassured her daughter, but the look she gave me said otherwise. "He knows what he's doing."

Would we ever see Elliot Lloyd again? I doubted it. As much as the man had aggravated me I found myself awed and humbled by his final act of selflessness and heroism.

"Let's get out of here already," B'Elanna spoke resolutely into the silence, picking up her tools. I keyed in the coordinates and my captain's authorisation as Harry powered up the transporters to take us the hell away from that sorry planet.


	20. The aftermath

I felt the familiar rush and tingly sensation as I materialised onto the 'Deep Space 5' transporter pad. I looked over to check that all four of us had made it safely. Harry, B'Elanna and Miral all stood beside me. I felt incredibly relieved.

The transporter officer was more than a little surprised to see us appear "Henley to security, I have four unauthorised persons in transporter room 2," he reacted immediately. "Who are you and where did you come from?" he asked drawing his phaser as he noticed our dusty renegade clothing.

"We transported direct from Dartesia," I answered honestly. "My name is Chakotay and this is Mr Kim. We are Starfleet officers." I thought that might placate him.

"Who's she?" the officer pointed the phaser at B'Elanna.

"I can speak for myself!" B'Elanna interjected.

"Don't you hurt my Mommy!" Miral snarled quite menacingly for a four-year-old and I was shocked to see the child pull out two small blades and hold them at the ready.

At that moment three security officers entered the room. "They're armed!" one of them cried. "Drop your weapons!"

"Stand down!" B'Elanna demanded protectively. "She's a child for god's sake! They're just toys,"

"Surrender your weapons!" the officer insisted.

"Give those to Mommy sweetheart. We're scaring the big men." B'Elanna's tone was laced with scorn. I noticed the way the metal gleamed as Miral handed over her 'toys'. They were primitive weapons, but hardly innocuous and not exactly something I'd let a four-year-old play with.

"What is your name and purpose here?" the officer asked, having taken the weapons.

"B'Elanna Torres. I'm an engineer."

"Dartesian?" the officer asked looking her up and down, uncertain about her race.

"No, actually, I was contracted to work there. I'm half human… half Klingon."

"Unusual," the officer raised his eyebrows.

B'Elanna ignored his tone of voice. "I have just left Dartesia having completed my contract to make the transport station operational – technically operational, that is. I'm not involved in politics. This is my daughter." Miral made a less-than-attractive face. "And these are my friends." She gestured to Harry and myself.

"And what were your Starfleet friends doing in Dartesia? Holidaying there?"

B'Elanna looked to me to answer that. "I can explain…" I began, uncertain what I should say. "It's okay Mr Kim," I motioned to Harry who wanted to speak. I had to think of how I would approach this. "We'll get this sorted out."

"I know we will Chakotay." Harry Kim spoke over me. "Officer, contact Admiral Kathryn Janeway at Starfleet headquarters on Earth. She'll explain all you need to know."

"She will?" I asked Harry.

"Of course. Janeway told me no matter what happened, she'd sort things out. After all, she practically co-ordinated this whole mission right?"

"I guess," I said uncertainly. I wondered what Kathryn would think of Elliot's part in B'Elanna's rescue. There was no way she had co-ordinated that aspect of the mission, was there? But her words rang in my head: 'Whatever it takes, bring B'Elanna and Miral back to Earth.' I fought back a sudden wave of grief as Security led us away.

We were given quarters to spend the night while our stories were checked out. All of us needed some time to process the events of the day. Harry bagged the shower first, locking himself in the bathroom, I sunk gratefully into a chair and Miral was fast asleep minutes after B'Elanna laid her down on the bed. I gazed at her peaceful little face, so angelic it was hard to believe that that vicious little creature who had threatened the officers with knives was the one and the same child. I smiled. Just like her mother, she certainly knew how to defend herself. But I hoped that she would also learn to relax and let her guard down and enjoy the softer, more peaceful side of herself – something B'Elanna struggled with. It made my heart glad to think that soon Miral would be reunited with her father and it would be Tom, not myself, watching over her sleeping form. Just the way it should be.

"Let's talk in the other room," I motioned to B'Elanna, once the child was deeply asleep.

I sat down on the sofa, expecting Torres to do the same but she paced back and forth, blinking back tears and refusing to look me in the eyes.

"Please, sit down B'Elanna," I tried to sound encouraging. It did not go down well.

"Don't tell me what to do!" she exploded.

"Okay." This was going to be difficult. "Can we talk?"

"What is there to say?"

"I thought you may be interested to hear about how Tom…"

"I know all about his illness! I got his letter you forwarded to me. Three days ago exactly."

"So I was right," I mused. "That's why you tried to escape? I thought as much."

"You always think you're right, don't you Chakotay! What the fuck do you know about my life? Huh? You, and Harry, and Elliot – especially Elliot! You should have stayed the hell away! You all should have left me alone!"

"I know things didn't go exactly as planned, but we had to try Torres! You could have been stuck in Dartesia for years!"

"It was my choice. And I can take care of myself!"

"And Miral?"

"What about her?"

"Your daughter needs her father, B'Elanna. And Tom needs you."

"And what about what _I_ need?"

"What you need, Torres? You need to grow up! And take responsibility for your family!" I raised my voice perhaps louder than was wise.

"Don't lecture me about family, Chakotay! You are _not_ my father!" B'Elanna retorted, walking out the door. I followed.

At that moment Harry emerged from the bathroom. "What's going on? B'Elanna, are you okay?"

At poor Harry's unsuspecting inquiry, B'Elanna lost it. "Okay? Am I _okay_? Are you stupid Harry? What is _okay_ about the fact that the man who just gave his _life_ for me, is a man I wished _dead_? What is okay about hating someone _so_ much for showing the truth about the state of my marriage? What is _okay_ about leaving the man I _loved_ when he needed me the _most_? Of course I'm not _okay_!"

"Sorry," Harry said rather impotently.

"It's not your fault, Harry. It's mine. Everything is. And don't I know it!" B'Elanna pushed past him into the bathroom.

Harry, holding his towel around his waist, gave me a look of concern.

"I'll handle her," I assured him, and he nodded, disappearing into the second bedroom to get dressed.

I grabbed the bathroom door as it slid shut. Torres was standing at the mirror. "Who is this person I've become?" she asked. It must have been some time since she'd looked in a mirror. "I don't recognise her." As I watched she drew her weapon - the laser knife, holding it dangerously close to her throat.

"How the hell did you get that thing past security?" I asked incredulous, and concerned.

She laughed harshly. "You don't survive in a place like Dartesia without knowing how to smuggle weapons, Chakotay. Elliot could have told you that!"

It pained me almost physically to think that B'Elanna had been so hardened by the war-torn environment of the past six months. "Oh God, why did you end up exiled in a place like that?" I sighed.

"Maybe because I deserved it. Maybe you should never have taken me from it!" She raised the knife…

Before I could stop her she had slashed the laser-blade through a thick handful of her tangled hair. The matted hairy mass fell at her feet like a strange murdered animal. I watched in anxious relief as she slashed again, and again and again, lopping off all her long tangled locks until the smell of singed hair was pungent in the air. Soon she was left with a mere crown of wayward tresses, shorter than she'd worn her hair on Voyager, shorter even, than when we'd first met in the Maquis days. There could be no hiding her Klingon features now, nor the tears that streamed unheeded down her cheeks.

Having run out of hair to attack she turned on her reflection with a cry of anguish. "No!" I yelled out, afraid the laser-beam would reflect back, but the safety-glass shattered into a million shards, leaving B'Elanna sobbing into a sink scattered with diamond tears.

I pried the knife from her fingers.

"How can I go back, Chakotay?" She asked me, distraught. "After the mistakes I've made? The things I've said! And done! Why on Earth would Tom have me back?"

"Because he loves you. Because he needs you," I told her truthfully.

"You make it sound so simple. But… I'm a mess, Chakotay. I don't know if I can be good for him right now!"

"Do you want to be?" The B'Elanna Torres I knew and loved could do anything she set her mind to.

"I want to try," she told me, he dark eyes streaming with tears. "I want Tom back so much, but I'm scared. He's sick and I… what if I can't deal with it all? What if I screw things up again?"

"You won't." I held her.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because you'll have help. You're not in this alone. There's the Doctor, there's Tom's parents, Kathryn Janeway of course… and there's me, B'Elanna. I'll do everything I can to help you, Tom and Miral. We're like family, right?"

"Oh Chakotay, where would I be without you?" B'Elanna sobbed, attempting to smile through her tears. Dartesia, I thought as I held her close. She felt muscular and warm. The trials were far from over for Tom and B'Elanna but in that instant I had a feeling that everything was going to be just fine. Elliot's sacrifice would not be in vain.


	21. So close

B'Elanna and I waited at the door to the Medical Research Labs. The EMH had insisted that, in the interests of Tom's health, we refrain from dropping in unexpectedly on Tom Paris, and meet with his doctor first to discuss how best to handle the situation. Torres had reluctantly agreed to his precautions.

I'd watched her grow increasingly anxious during our trip to Earth. I could only imagine how nervous she must feel. As we waited for the doctor to let us in, she ran her hand agitatedly through her short hair. The new style had grown on me. I had decided it suited her, as did the low-cut crimson tunic she wore, matched with the tall leather boots she had become accustomed to wearing. But today she looked worlds away from her out-law appearance in Dartesia. She looked clean, modern and stylish. She had tried unsuccessfully to get Miral into a matching dress this morning. In the end the four-year-old had insisted on choosing her own clothes – dark brown pants, brown boots, and brown tunic. The only bit of colour was the small blue stripes on the sleeves and neck. In a strange way the plain outfit highlighted her exotic looks, especially her wide blue eyes set, as they were in her tanned skin. Her blonde curls had been brushed until they shone.

Finally the Doctor let us through into his laboratory. B'Elanna was about to explode. "So where is Tom and when can I see him?" she demanded.

"Shhhhh!" the Doctor appeared panicked. "B'Elanna, Miral, you're both going to have to get behind this screen. Now!" He pulled a privacy screen around one of the beds.

"Excuse me?" Torres was affronted.

"He's here." The Doctor explained. "_Please_ keep your voice down."

"Where?" Torres glanced around the room, as the Doctor practically grabbed her by the arm to drag her out of sight. Miral stayed close to her mother, although she too was looking around wide-eyed, taking it all in.

At that moment we heard Tom's familiar voice call out from around the corner. "Who's there Doc? You got company?"

"Tom!" B'Elanna breathed, her hand on her chest. "Was that daddy?" Miral whispered.

"Of course not Mr Paris. You're imagining things!" the Doctor called out to Tom, who must have been in the laboratory's small adjoining bathroom. "You need to concentrate on your presentation!" Then to B'Elanna: "I understand this must seem an outrageous request. But you _must_ stay here and stay quiet until he leaves…"

B'Elanna was incredulous. "You're going to have to lock me up Doctor if you expect…"

The Doctor clapped his hand over B'Elanna's mouth. "Tom _cannot_ see either of you right now. There is no time. You could ruin his career! Is that what you want?" With that the Doctor pulled the screen shut.

"Who's there? I thought I heard…"

The Doc and I turned to see Tom Paris standing before us looking extremely dashing in the latest Starfleet elite pilot uniform with navy blue panelling.

"Heard what?" the Doc asked innocently.

"I think I must have been imagining things." Tom said uncertainly. "Are you sure I'm okay? How do I look?" he asked the Doctor tentatively, attaching his three pips to the silver-lined collar.

"Not bad," I answered for him. "Not bad at all." The colour and style of the uniform suited him and I was overwhelmed to see him looking so well.

"Chakotay?" Tom exclaimed in obvious surprise. "I _knew_ I heard the Doc talking to someone! I can't believe you came."

"Well, your new uniform appears to fit," the Doctor interrupted. "And how do you feel now? Any better?"

"I feel a little better, I guess. Thanks for giving me that shot, Doc."

"Well, your readings are satisfactory. I suspect your nausea is simply due to nerves - which will not be helped by running late. I suggest you head to the lecture theatre immediately. You do _not_ want to screw up this speech. You know how important it is."

"Speech?" I asked.

"He means my presentation at the Academy," Tom explained. "That's why you're here right? I'm speaking about the new piloting course to academic staff, prospective students and their parents. It will be broadcast live on the Starfleet channel too."

"When?"

"In… shit, in ten minutes! You're right Doc, I need to get a move on. Are you _sure_ this is just nerves Doc? I feel real uneasy right now. I don't know if I can get through this today."

"You'll be fine, Tom. I know you will," the Doctor smiled encouragement.

"I hope so. The Starfleet designers won't be happy if I puke or faint at the first public showing of this new uniform they've given me. It's supposed to inspire confidence. Are you sure it looks okay? It feels kind of tight…" It was. In fact it highlighted how well-toned Tom's arms and chest were. And his freshly cut hair (sideburns neatly trimmed into Starfleet points) looked classy and distinguished. He had certainly recovered well since his relapse. The Doctor, his family – and Janeway too, I guessed – they had been looking after him well I had no doubt. Aside from appearing a touch pale, no one would suspect he'd been so ill recently.

"Tom, honestly," I grabbed his shoulders. I couldn't help smiling, I was so happy for him. "You look… the way every pilot wants to look. Damn it Paris, you look sexy. I'm sure the Academy will be proud."

"Shucks, Chakotay," Was Tom Paris blushing? "I'm speechless."

"That's rare!" The Doctor scoffed in mock annoyance. "But I'm sure your lack for words will not last long enough to interfere with your presentation. Chakotay, why don't you go with Mr Paris and we, I mean I'll, meet you afterwards, hmm?"

"Okay," I agreed.

"This way." Tom and I left the laboratory and made our way through the academy grounds and into the lecture theatre through the back entrance. I had forgotten how much taller than me my friend was. It was a totally different experience walking beside him now than if had been the first time I'd visited and found myself awkwardly walking alongside his wheelchair. It made me grin with joy to see Tom looking so healthy. And to think that B'Elanna and he would be reunited soon. The suspense was almost too much for me. It must have been killing B'Elanna!

"So, Tom, you've recovered well, I take it? I wasn't kidding, you look great!"

"Thanks Chakotay." Again he looked humble and almost bashful. I suppose it had been a while since anyone had looked at him that way. His attitude certainly was a far cry from the cocky sexually self-assured young man from the Maquis days. "I've been working out some," he told me, "trying to put some weight back on. And resting. The Doc, and my parents, they've been on my back making sure I look after myself." He grinned. "A good thing I guess, I tend to get carried away with my work. I feel kinda unprepared this morning though! I hope I do okay. These sessions have a huge influence on student enrolments, especially with a new course."

"You'll be great."

"Yeah. As long as not too many people watched that documentary last night."

"What documentary?"

"That's the answer I want to hear! But seriously, it was obviously sensationalizing the story the whole way through. They're not going to read to much into it… right?"

"Tom, I honestly don't know what you're talking about. I only arrived on Earth this morning."

"Oh, I thought you must have seen it. I thought you were just trying to make me feel better. Everyone else I've asked saw it. There was a documentary about Turellian Fever. It talked about my case – totally unauthorized, of course. Their reporter must have been a gossip columnist. God, I'm hoping nobody's gonna ask about it."

"That's why you're nervous?"

"In part. You're not gonna believe this but… I woke up this morning with this feeling that… I don't know… like something momentous is gonna happen today, you know? Something life-changing. It's making me edgy - and kinda scared. It's ridiculous, I know. It's all in my head. Like the Doc says, it's just nerves. What do you think Chakotay? Do you believe in premonitions?"

I wanted to say yes! I wanted to say 'B'Elanna's here!' But I did not. "This is an important day for you, Tom." I trod carefully. "All you need is to be open and ready to take what ever comes. But this presentiment of yours, if it's real, how do you know it won't be a change for the better?"

"I hadn't considered that. Most of the changes in my life recently have kinda been in the other direction," Tom admitted wryly. I felt a sharp pang of sympathy for him. I only just managed to keep my mouth shut. "Here's hoping," Tom held his hand up, fingers crossed. It was then that I noticed the medical device on his wrist. It was partially camouflaged because of the silver trim lining the sleeves of his uniform. If he was wearing the medical device it meant he was still on constant medication. My heart fell a little. This was a sharp reminder. His healthy appearance had made me temporarily forget than his condition was still erratic and incurable. The Doctor was right to be cautious about informing him of B'Elanna's return. I was glad I had deferred to his better judgement. I was glad I had managed not to spill the beans. It was the right thing to do.

We entered the lecture theatre as the previous session was wrapping up. Tom introduced me to the Dean of the Flight School who was waiting for him, and we shook hands. Now that I was aware of the medical band that Tom wore, I couldn't stop noticing it. I noticed it again as he shook hands with the Dean. However I assume the Dean must already have known at least a little about Tom's medical condition. I wondered if he had seen the documentary Tom had mentioned. He congratulated Tom on his appearance in the new uniform. It was an honour he had been chosen to display Starfleet's new image for the first time. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Tom replied.

"The Academy is behind you Paris, one hundred percent. Remember that. Break a leg."

It was obviously one of those old Earth phases I was not familiar with. "Thank you sir," Tom grinned.

In no time at all, the prospective students and their families, as well as interested faculty members, began filing in. I took a side seat in the front row and watched as Tom loaded up his files to the view screen. At Tom's request, the lectern was moved from the stage and replaced with a simple chair and side table. Tom wanted to be able to sit down and take a less formal approach, he said. By the time the Dean strolled onto the stage to begin the session, the room was full. Every seat was filled and still people were filing into the aisles and standing up the back. There was no way I could leave to find the Doc and B'Elanna, even if I wanted to. I had never seen a lecture theatre so well attended.

"Quite a crowd we have," the Dean commented before stepping on stage and addressing the audience. "Our next session is about to commence. Let me introduce Commander Thomas Paris, co-ordinator of our new Advanced Piloting course here at Starfleet Academy. Without further ado, I will now hand over to him. I hope you enjoy the session."

"Thank you sir." Tom stepped forward. As he surveyed his audience and his nerves appeared to fall away. He commanded attention in very natural way that I felt the young cadets would respond to well to his attitude. But as much as I wished I could enjoy listening to Tom Paris' talk, truth is the suspense was killing me. I just wanted it over with. The reunion between Tom and his wife and child, that I had laboured so hard to bring about, was so close now… so close. In fact it was to be closer than I realised.


	22. I listen to Tom's presentation

Just as had taken a seat in the audience to listen to Tom's presentation, someone tapped my shoulder. It was Cadet Greg Bartlett, Tom's charismatic student, with his best friend Ali. "Pleased to see you both," I greeted them as they took seats behind me.

"Likewise, Captain," Greg responded cheerily. "Boy, I've been looking forward to hearing about this course Tom's put together. It's gonna be a good year next year. I can feel it."

"I hope so, Greg," I nodded.

"Say," Greg was enthusiastic. "Has Tom invited you to lunch with us? We're going to all meet at…"

At that moment Tom began speaking. "We'll talk later," I promised the cadet, and turned to the stage.

Tom's speech was inspiring. His new flight course would have a major practical focus using a series of challenging holodeck simulations that Tom had written, as well as real life flying. It would focus on improving the skills of each individual student, rather than emphasizing routine protocols. It sounded a far cry from the tedious drills I remembered from my Academy days. It sounded exciting. And it appeared he'd put in a lot of work. His conclusion was met with wide applause, after which he stood and opened the floor for questions. Hands went up around the room. Students wanted to know if their marks were high enough to enrol, Academy staff wanted more details on assessment procedures, parents wanted to know what career opportunities the course would lead to. Tom answered all of these in a friendly and open manner. The atmosphere was warm and positive. But then came a question of a different note:

"Commander Tom Paris, on what basis has Starfleet Academy employed you?" A woman asked, holding out her communicator to record his response.

"I beg your pardon?" Tom asked.

"How do you qualify for this job, Commander?" Something about her manner made me immediately suspicious as to her agenda.

Tom smiled diplomatically. "Madam I don't like to brag, but I'm the best pilot the Academy could have!" I felt his characteristic bravado was a cover for his uncertainty of where this question was leading.

The woman smirked. "No one doubts your piloting prowess, Commander. There are even some here who will remember you as the Academy's golden boy during your cadet years, but you have since been, among other things, a rebel, a mercenary and a spy." At these accusations, whisperers began in the audience and she spoke increasingly louder to stay above them. "How is it that an ex-con like yourself has secured an influential teaching career at the Academy? Your father must be proud."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "What is this about? Are you a reporter?"

"Lyka Jordan from Aerial News," The woman confirmed proudly, and the noisy chatter in the room leapt to a new level. I had not been aware that Tom's new post might be newsworthy. I often found it hard to imagine what it must be like belonging to a Starfleet dynasty such as the Paris family. I guess Tom was used to it. "Well, Ms Jordan," he responded, seemingly unperturbed, "I'm sorry to burst your bubble but my father did _not_ secure this job for me. That's what you're suggesting, right? On the contrary. In fact, he didn't want me to take it. Next question, please."

Several hands shot up, but the persistent Ms Jordan was not finished. "Why not?" she probed further. The audience listened at her back.

"You're a journalist," Tom said dryly, "why don't you interview the Admiral yourself?" The room erupted noisily and Tom struggled to be heard. "Does anyone have further questions about the _course_? This is not a press conference, people. Yes, Cadet Suzuki."

"Commander Paris is it because of your disease? Is that why Admiral Paris didn't want you to take the job? Is it because you're dying?"

Suddenly the chatter died down, until you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone stared at Tom, standing alone on the platform. Tall and dashing in his pristine uniform, he had suddenly paled. I knew Tom had hoped to avoid this topic, but now it had been brought up, was he was prepared to address it genuinely? He walked to his chair and sat down again, took a sip of water and then surveyed his audience. He placed the glass down carefully, and began speaking. "I'm not going to dance around this issue," he said in an honest and sincere tone. "Many of you will have heard of the Turellian fever in the media over the past year. It is true that I contracted the TF virus during my time with Starfleet Rescue." The audience broke into alarmed chatter at this admission. "While the disease is not contagious," Tom assured them, "it is, currently, incurable." The audience fell silent. It was so quiet that I thought heard Tom's shaky intake of breath. But his voice, when he spoke, was steady. "Over the past year a team at Starfleet Medical Research have been working on developing better treatments against the virus. Lucky for me, Starfleet Medical Research Labs are adjacent to the Academy campus, which means I'll be able to receive regular treatment, which is crucial to managing my condition. As the situation stands, I do not foresee my condition impacting on my obligations to students and the Academy. And I'm looking forward to a successful opening year for this course."

"Commander Paris, if a cure is found tomorrow, what guarantee you can you give us that you won't be piloting the first Starship out of here?"

Tom laughed. "I doubt a cure will be found anytime soon. The Doc says it's early stages yet. But I see your point. You think maybe this job is a stopgap until I get my wings back? You know, the truth is, until I got sick, I had never considered a career with the Academy. I was a pilot. It was my identity. But… since I've started teaching, I've found it to be one of the most rewarding pursuits in my life. If I had to choose between flying and teaching, I'd be hard pressed to make a decision. This job, I get to combine _both_ of these passions. And at this point in my life, regardless of my health, I can't think of anything more rewarding."

Tom's response was received with warm applause.

"Be that as it may," It was Lyka Jordan again, "there are some who might question your suitability as a role model for Academy cadets. There are important qualities other than piloting skills that must be fostered in our next generation of Starfleet officers. A teacher's moral values are of utmost importance, I'm sure the audience is with me on that. And what are yours Commander Paris? Loyalty? Your Maquis history proves otherwise. Honesty? The fact that you were court-marshalled for falsifying records cannot be overlooked. Family values? When did you last see your daughter Commander Paris?"

"I didn't come here to discuss my _private_ affairs," Tom warned darkly, amid the uproar.

"Are you even in contact with your "wife" Commander? Or now that you're back in the alpha quadrant, you dump her and move on…"

"Enough!" Tom yelled jumping to his feet. "You have no right to make such accusations. You know _nothing_ about my life!"

"I know that your marriage is a shambles. Prove me wrong. Where is she Commander? Where is your wife? Do you even know where she is?"

Tom looked anguished. The silence was almost unbearable. Then, from the back of the room, a familiar voice called out firmly: "I'm here!" Whispers broke out in waves. She must have slipped in unnoticed after the presentation began. She must have been standing up the back, listening, this whole time. Now she came forward, carrying Miral. People stepped aside to allow her through.

"Who are you?" Ms Jordan asked rudely, looking up and down her svelte figure.

"You think you know about Tom's marriage, but you don't recognise me? I'm B'Elanna Torres – Tom's wife. And this is our daughter, Miral."

The look on the reporter's face was priceless.

As they approached the stage, Miral broke away from her mother. "Daddy?" She broke into a run, her long blonde curls flying behind her. She bounded onto the stage and threw herself at a shocked Tom Paris, who was almost bowled over. I watched as B'Elanna stepped onto the platform beside Tom. He was clearly in shock. B'Elanna reached out to take his hand, and the way the stage lights glinted off his face – I knew there were tears streaming down his cheeks. The Dean had come forward to the microphone. "This session is over!" he announced. "Please make your way to the exits at the back of the theatre." Everyone began talking and moving at once. The room was chaos. I wanted to make my way toward the stage, but the crowd was pulling me the other way. Greg Barlett grabbed my arm. "Come with us, Captain. Tom will be joining us soon." I gave in and followed the cadets. At the exit, I glanced back to witness the reunion I had hoped and planned for, for so long. Tom had sunk into a chair, his arms circling B'Elanna's body as she stood and cradled his head tenderly in her hands. As I watched, their faces drew together until dark hair mingled with blonde then my view was obscured by the crowd.


	23. We celebrate

I had expected Kathryn to be at the celebration. The other notable absence was Owen Paris. I questioned Tom about this and he shrugged and guessed that it was 'Admiral's business'. Of course he was right, but I didn't think much of it at the time. Although I had been hoping to see Kathryn, of course.

Greg and his friend Ali lead me to the same restaurant I had met Tom at three months ago. I had first met the cadets that day too, Tom's students, and been impressed by how much they liked and appreciated Tom as a tutor. And here we were again in somewhat better circumstances – celebrating Tom's new position as a Starfleet Academy Lecturer. But where was the guest of honour himself?

"It's late. Tom should be here by now," Greg seemed worried. We had been waiting a long time. It was hardly lunchtime anymore.

I tried to let the cadets down gently. "Boys I know Tom planned to have lunch with you, but I wouldn't be surprised if he wants some time alone with his wife…"

"Tom!" Ali rose from the table, waving, "Over here!"

I turned to see Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres enter hand in hand grinning like newly-weds. They looked like the perfect couple: Tom, tall and dashing in his pristine uniform, B'Elanna toned and curvaceous in her red sheath dress, both grinning like idiots, their eyes sparkling with love for each other. Before they made it to the table, Miral escaped from the Doctor's arms and pushed between the re-united lovers. Laughingly Tom hoisted his daughter into the air and swung her around. They were a family. A very happy family - although as Tom lifted Miral I noticed again the medical band on his wrist, an ever-present reminder of his chronic medical condition. I guessed right in thinking Tom had been with the Doctor receiving another treatment before joining us.

Once we'd all taken seats, the waiter came round to take orders. It was the same waiter I remembered from last time. "How are you today Tom?" he asked.

"Not bad," Tom grinned. "Not bad at all." It was a similar response to the last time I'd been here when Tom had been in his wheelchair. This time however, there was no shadow in Tom's eyes as he spoke. He didn't have to pretend. He meant every word.

I sat next to Miral and she showed me her collection of pebbles she'd brought from Dartesia. She had named them all after friends, the rag-tag bunch of children we I had found her with on Dartesia. She showed me a bigger jagged black stone. "Who's this?" I asked.

"Mummy, of course."

I laughed. "I see. Is there a Daddy stone too?"

She frowned and I thought perhaps I should not have asked. She may hardly remember Tom. But the little girl reached into the pocket of her shirt the brought something out. "I keep this one safe," she whispered, not opening her hand. "Don't want to lose it again."

"May I see?"

Carefully she opened her small hand. One her palm sat a stone that many people believed started the wars in Dartesia – a rough, uncut diamond.

"Did you find this?"

She nodded. "Shh. Don't tell anyone. This one is special."

"It certainly is." I promised I would not tell. Of course the child did not know what the stone was, she only knew it sparkled and it reminded her of her father.

By the time our meal was finished, it was beginning to get dark. The time had flown. The Doctor left us to return to his work, reminding B'Elanna and Tom he wanted to talk with them tomorrow. Miral was asleep on the bench seat, covered by B'Elanna's jacket. It had been an eventful day for her.

After the meal Tom embraced me, his lean arms tight around my body, his breath warm against my temple. "I want to thank you Chakotay, with all my heart. Seriously," he breathed. "I owe you everything I have. My life, even." When he finally stepped back his blue eyes shone with his heart-felt gratitude. I felt guilty. B'Elanna would not be here, smiling, her glowing face framed by dark curls, if it were not for the self-sacrifice of Tom's friend Elliot Lloyd. But now was hardly the time to break that news to Tom. I wondered if it ever would be. Into my mind's eye flashed the memory of Elliot's final departure: his casual salute, and his words: 'buy Tom a beer for me.'

"Tom," I grabbed his arm impulsively, "let me buy you a beer, huh?"

Tom smiled warily. "Chakotay, I thought you didn't drink – and I shouldn't. The Doc's on my case already…"

"Just this once."

"Okay," Tom decided. "Just one."

I called for the waiter.

Our drinks were placed on the table and Tom grinned. "Like old times huh?"

"Like old times," I agreed.

"Cheers."

We watched the two cadets playing pool. Then they challenged Tom to a game, and he went to join them. I was left at the table with B'Elanna.

"I'm so overwhelmed with happiness right now," B'Elanna told me.

"You should be," I told her. "You have an amazing husband. You should be proud of him and everything he's managed to get though. I know I am."

"I just hope I'm worthy," B'Elanna admitted. "And I hope he doesn't get sick again."

"B'Elanna," I felt my heart wrench. "He will. You know that right? The Doctor is doing what he can, but there is still no cure. And the drug treatments can have serious side effects. There are going to be rough times ahead for your family. I don't want to spoil your homecoming, but you need to be prepared."

"I don't want to hear this tonight Chakotay. Let me enjoy this one night. You and the Doctor can tell me what you like tomorrow. I'll listen then. Tom looks so handsome and perfect in his new uniform, I can hardly believe he's sick at all."

"Believe it," I said grabbing B'Elanna's arm. "I'm not going to let you delude yourself, only to run away again when Tom needs you the most."

"I would never!" B'Elanna was offended and there were tears in her eyes. "Is that what you think of me, Chakotay?"

"I want to make sure… that you truly love Tom," I insisted. "It's not going to be easy. Do you understand that? Are you prepared to stay, no matter what the future holds?"

"You're serious aren't you? I never knew you cared about Tom so much." B'Elanna seemed shocked by my fervour.

"I've seen how hard it's been for him," I tried to explain. "And I've seen how he's managed to make a new life and career, despite the challenges. I have nothing but admiration for his behaviour and achievements these last three months."

"I love him Chakotay. I promise. I'd never think of leaving him ever again."

"That reporter's still here. Did you notice?" Ali informed us.

He was right. Lyka Jordan was sitting at the bar chatting to the barstaff, whilst glancing our way when she thought no one was looking.

"Oh man!" Tom seemed upset by this. "That woman's really getting on my nerves. What are my chances if I ask her to leave?"

"I've got a better idea," B'Elanna grinned. "How about we really give her something to talk about!" B'Elanna insisted leaning into Tom with a kiss so passionate that he was pushed back against the pool cue rack, scattering the balls. "Game's over boys, I forfeit," he threw his cue to the table and embraced his wife in one swashbuckling move.


	24. Samara returns

"But I want to ride bikes with you outside!" Miral bawled fervently.

"I wish I could Miral honey, but I'm too tired today. Besides it's late," Tom explained. "So what's it gonna be? You can either play in the courtyard with your toys, or you and I can play a card game in the bedroom. Your choice."

Miral pouted, but gave in to her father. "Card game," she decided reluctantly. "I want to play with you. But Chakotay can play too, I s'pose."

"Okay, you pick a game off the shelf and bring it over honey," Tom said wearily. He'd had a tough first two weeks of teaching and the Doctor was becoming concerned about maintaining his health, but he was trying hard to fulfil all his duties including those of a husband an a father. "Chakotay?" he offered me a a deck of the cards Miral had chosen.

"I think I'll help B'Elanna clean up the kitchen, if that's okay," I offered. I wanted to find out how B'Elanna had been coping this past month. I closed the bedroom door quietly and went downstairs.

As B'Elanna began to fill me in on the trials of the past weeks, the doorbell chimed. "Ignore it," B'Elanna told me. "I'm not expecting anyone and it's almost dinner time." But the bell chimed again insistently.

"It's probably one of Tom's students." B'Elanna rolled her eyes, but strode across the kitchen to the hall and unlocked the door. No sooner had the door slid open than an alluring figure in a skimpy red-sequined dress hurtled through. "I need to speak with Tom," she demanded ardently, striding forward in dangerously high heels, her long dark hair flowing behind her in sensuous waves.

"Who the hell…?" B'Elanna, her guard all the way up, blocked the doorway.

I peered into the mysterious woman's face and was amazed to recognise her. Her hair was wild and her dark eyes intense, her lips smouldered with glossy red lipstick. "Samara?" I exclaimed. "Can it really be you?" She looked like no Vulcan I had ever seen before. I'd certainly never seen a Vulcan show such cleavage…

"It's her alright, Chakotay. Sam, let me explain," Greg stammered. I had hardly noticed him slip in behind her. Samara hardly seemed to notice him either.

"Out of my way," she made to push B'Elanna aside, but Torres was not so easily dealt with. Her Klingon strength was a match for this Vulcan teenager. She grabbed the girl's wrist and spoke with disgust. "Are you out of your mind? There is no way I'm letting someone like you walk into my home and speak to my husband! And I hope to God he would not want you here any more than I do!"

Samara raised an eyebrow. "So you are B'Elanna Torres, Tom's wife? Of all people you should have his best interests at heart. Let me pass!"

"Stop right now! Both of you!" I thundered. I had to take control of the situation before it escalated. These two women could do some serious damage – to the furniture as well as each other – if things got out of hand. "No one is going anywhere until I understand what is going on. Now let's keep our voices down and sort this out in a civilized fashion. There is a child upstairs."

B'Elanna reluctantly let go of Sam's arm.

"Samara, why do you need to talk to Tom so urgently?" I asked.

"_This_ is Samara?" B'Elanna interrupted incredulously. "The medical student who was nursing my husband while I was away? _This little slut_ was nursing my _husband_?"

"I am Samara, Tom's nurse," Sam acknowledged with a small smirk.

"But she doesn't normally look so…" Greg couldn't help running his eyes up and down Sam's rather stunning (and exposed) curves.

"Sam," I asked, "would you mind telling us why on Earth are you dressed like…"

"Like a cheap consort from the pleasure planet Risa?" Greg finished my sentence for me. "Her words not mine. Believe it or not Captain, she has a 'logical' reason for this disguise. Or so she says. I had nothing to do with it, by the way. I only went to meet her when she arrived back on Earth."

"Nothing to do with what?" I demanded. "You will explain, Samara, before you do anything else. What have you done?"

"Yes, sir." Sam frowned and lifted her chin. "I have just arrived home from Turellia. My appearance is irrelevant. Merely a disguise that allowed me to avoid suspicion."

"She stole blood samples from a Turellian hospital!" Greg blurted.

Sam glared at him menacingly.

"Is that true?" I demanded.

"There was no other way to get the information I needed," Sam explained. "Besides, the blood tubes were in storage. They were not being used. It was the only logical option to take."

"Find out what?" B'Elanna spat. "And what does any of this have to do with Tom?"

"To find a _cure_!" Sam's eyes blazed. "Don't you _want_ that for him? This is why I went to Turellia for my placement in the first place. There was no _way_ I was leaving without trying _everything_ in my power to find a cure for the Turellian Fever!"

"You did that… all that for Tom?" B'Elanna asked.

"I did it to find a cure. I always finish what I start."

"No matter the consequences? That's a little concerning."

Sam said nothing, but Greg came forward. "As soon as she arrived on Earth, she went straight to Medical Research. Hardly stopped to say hello to me, only dump her bags on me. I followed her into the laboratory and then she turned to me and took out all these trays of blood samples from her luggage and started analysing them at once! When the EMH appeared and started questioning her, guess what she did? She tried to deactivate him! He kept overriding her commands and finally she smashed the holo-emitter with her fist! And then when she'd been through all the samples, she got angry and threw the trays on the floor, smashing all the blood tubes! The lab is in such a mess. When the EMH is turned back on there's going to be trouble…"

"I did not get angry," Sam insisted. "Vulcans do not get angry."

"Yeah? What would you call it?"

"The tubes were useless. I did not find that for which I was looking, therefore I discarded them!" Sam's voice rose dangerously.

"By throwing them to the floor?"

"Try not o provoke her Greg," I spoke firmly. "What's got into her, do you know? Have you even seen her act this way before?"

"I don't know," Greg shook his head. "She's been through a lot in Turellia. There have been more earthquakes and other disasters. She was supposed to have returned weeks ago. Maybe the strain has been too much…"

"I'm fine," Sam insisted. "I'm simply trying to achieve what I set out to accomplish and I am almost there. I will not let you stand in my way when I am so close. I need to question Tom Paris!"

"Can it wait?" I spoke calmly to counter her frenzy. "Tom's asleep upstairs," I explained. (If he wasn't, he probably should be. He had seemed exhausted earlier.) "He's had a tiring day, Sam. Can your questions wait until tomorrow?"

Hearing that Tom was asleep, she lowered her voice. "I'd prefer not to delay. Who knows what may happen in 12 hours?"

"True, but what are odds of anything crucial changing overnight?" Vulcans were good with odds. Maybe I could convince her with logic.

"The odds are low," she admitted. "But the consequences are high. I'd rather… Why is everyone staring at me this way? Is my behaviour… concerning somehow?"

"A little. Sam you need to calm down. And maybe change out of that outfit. Why don't you go into the bathroom and at least remove your makeup, and put on some sensible shoes. I'll make some herbal tea, and we can talk. How does that sound?"

Sam nodded ever so slightly as she considered, glancing at B'Elanna who still guarded the doorway to upstairs. "Acceptable."

"B'Elanna, is that alright with you?" I asked.

"You should have asked me first, Chakotay. This is my house. But, I'll go along with it. I have a few questions to ask the little Vulcan tramp, myself."

"Alright. Sam, do your parents know you're back?"

"Not… yet," she admitted cautiously.

I wondered how Tom managed these unruly teenagers so well. I had certainly not anticipated such behaviour from Samara. I suppose even Vulcan teenagers are a handful – maybe more so.

When Samara emerged from the bathroom, she looked a little more like herself. She had changed into a cadet uniform, and her hair was plaited. Yet the wild look in her dark eyes had not abated and she still seemed on edge. I wondered how long she had been awake. With the makeup gone she looked paler than usual and faint circles hung under her eyes. And she looked so young. Not more than a child. Thankfully this caused B'Elanna to soften her attitude as we waited for Sam's father to pick her up. I had sent Greg home already. He had departed reluctantly, promising Sam he would meet her on campus for lunch.

I handed around cups of calming herbal tea.

"Samara," B'Elanna began, as kindly as she could. "I've heard about the good work you've done helping the Doctor with his research. And I'd like to thank you for taking care of Tom while I was away."

"How is Tom doing?" Sam asked keenly. "The treatments the Doctor is using are far from ideal. And I know there must be carry-over effects from his insistence to cut treatment for the piloting exams. Let me guess, his chronic pain is getting worse? The drugs are no longer as effective? He must have started teaching now too! His lectures are fascinating, but don't let the students keep him beyond the hour. Has he been staying late to tweak the holo-programs? His immunity will drop if he overworks himself. We need to prevent that."

"You know Tom so well." B'Elanna was impressed and, I imagine, rather disconcerted by the cadet's thorough knowledge of her husband's issues. "I guess you two have spent a lot of time together. He mentions you often. He's been worried about you being in Turellia for so long."

"Really? He need not worry. But I am touched that he thinks of me." She sipped her tea, glancing at B'Elanna through her long lashes. "He never talks to me about you. Apart from that time he was delirious… but that was different."

"What did he say about me?" B'Elanna was curious.

Sam cleared her throat and impersonated Tom. "God, I'm so glad you're here! I've missed you B'Elanna baby." It was eerie how her voice brought the events of that awful night back to me.

B'Elanna looked shocked. Of course she was not aware of Sam's talent for impersonation. "Excuse me?"

"He mistook me for you. Of course we are nothing alike. As I said, he was delirious."

B'Elanna looked horrified so I changed the subject. "Sam, tell us about your search for a cure. Have you found out anything that may be useful to the Doctor's research?"

"Not yet. I need to talk to Tom first."

"What do you need to ask him?"

"I have been analysing all the customs records in Turellia - and cross-referencing with the medical records. I wanted to track any humans who have been exposed to the virus over many years and yet not affected by it. I wanted to determine if there are any cases of such 'natural immunity'. A blood sample from a human with immunity could be used by the Doctor to develop an effective cure."

"It sounds like a big job for one person."

"I spent most nights sorting through records," Sam admitted.

"On top of performing your medical duties? That's a hell of a lot to take on. I guess your superviser had no idea huh?"

"I found only one recorded human who had been in and out of Turellian space for over five years. But I ran out of time to match this record with a blood sample from the corresponding medical storage facility."

"So you brought all the unchecked samples with you?" B'Elanna guessed. "No luck, huh?"

"There was no blood sample on record from this human."

"What did you want to ask Tom?" I asked her.

"I need to track this individual and take a blood sample. It is our best chance to find a cure within Tom's life expectancy. I need to find out if he knows this man. Maybe Tom can help me track him down."

"Track who down?" Tom asked, stepping into the room.


End file.
